Black Jacket

It certainly didn’t happen for the first time. To be honest, I have felt the same species of butterflies in my stomach a few times before. And I don’t even say that he is different than other guys. Well, everyone is different but he has this aura in himself that I can’t seem to avoid — at least for now.

It’s been more than a half year when I first saw him on his vintage black jacket. I remember how we met. Demure as I was, he initiated the introduction and it was nothing more than his amiable nature that I adored in our first meeting. I don’t remember when random meetings started making memories in my heart — memories that I fancy in my sleeping hour. I don’t know when it started feeling so special to have him by my side without having to utter a single word. I don’t know how he made love with my soul without a single touch.

To be true to myself and you, it didn’t happen at the first glance I saw him, neither the second. I don’t know when it happened. I’m not even sure if it has happened at all. All I know and remember is the black jacket that he wears often and its enticing smell, the thought of which (yes, the smell is deeply rooted in my mind) makes me impatiently crave for the smell of his breath. He wears the black jacket whose color is so common, yet its alluring fragrance, derived from his aroma, enough for me to express my clandestine thoughts.

I have known what it feels to love and be loved. But with him, there is much more to feel than love — a bond that’s ineffable, the bond between me and him which I know he is completely unaware of, the bond that was given birth by the black jacket, the bond that I wish would last forever.

Maybe the string of fate isn’t always red — maybe it changed its color to black this time.