Pretend it´s Autumn

Thought about writing of you without even knowing your name- a name is a good thing for starters and we are all absolute beginners here, our (key)strokes are too broad, too wide, too blunt, too coarse- but you were dressed in a periwinkle-blue sweater made either of cotton or fleece, it´s not that I didn´t look straight it´s just that I´m not too good with clothing.
You carried your weight around the mall with grace and probably have a PhD or three. Everything about you as seen from a glance over my spaghetti swamped in camper berries smelled of post-grad. Which, oddly enough, kind of turns me on- I think it´s just the perpetual Academic underachiever in me. Got this close to dropping out of College, only I didn´t, because a special friend I respected a lot back then (still do) told me not to, “We´re halfway there,” etc.
But I digress.

I wonder about her perfume, the way she smells like early in the morning upon waking up; suppose it´s Saturday just before breakfast. Purring lazily, hair a mess, eyes still red, sand on the pillow, periwinkle-blue sweater folded neatly over a chair by the bed, the whole day beckoning ahead of us.

Miss Autumn, 2006.