A Poetic Affair

"Like air, but not ‘air’ air you know? It’s like the air trapped inside a house that hasn't been visited for years", you answer while stirring your coffee which still fumes ever so slightly.

"It's a rarity, the way it smells. In fact, it's a process pretty similar to brewing alcohol; An art to kill something so vital and stuff it with everything barren.", you continue," I have a thing for that smell and when I read words written by people who are dead or even by those who are very well alive, I smell the same air everywhere around me."

You look away from me, staring at something or someone in the distance and I can see your eyes turn watery but you soak it in and smile again.

"You see, the air inside is rotten and paralyzed. It hasn't moved in years and the fresh air outside would not even dare touch it. In fact, if you stand at the doorway of such homes and throw your hands inside, you can feel it; you can feel the gloom running over your fingers and it's, in my opinion, a phenomenon no physical law can prove. Actually, it doesn't need proving because it's there for the ones who know.", your lips quiver as you gasp for breath. Why does it always feel like you have seen and felt everything you ever talk about? No amount of bizarre can make me believe that your words are fictional. They sound so lifelike and alien at the same time that I'm forced to believe that there are layers to you that I will never understand.

"Can you describe it? The smell of the dead air you talk about?",I say and I'm not playing anymore, there's something going wrong with your words now.

"It's hard to put in words. Calling it musty would be an understatement. Hmm, let me think.”, you sigh.

"GOT IT!", snapping your fingers together you continue," It's not really the smell that could be described but rather the first feeling that hits you when you visit one such home and inhale it. It feels like knowing the world has ended and you will never see your mother again. It feels like nothing outside remains anymore and all that you have ever seen in your long hard years is forgotten except for the walls that hold you now. It feels like safety and annihilation at the same time. Yes, if you really are adamant, it smells like a funeral and the perfumes your lovers held all mixed into one."