Sweet Peppermint

I loved how her hair always smelled like sweet peppermint. She rested her head on my chest. I rubbed my thumb across her arm. This is how I wished we'd stay, silent and blissful. We tended to screw thing up when we open our mouths. We had what most people would call a "tumultuous relationship". I think that's how she liked it. She referred to us as Verlaine and Rimbaud. I didn't care who we were as long as we were we. I never like who I became without her. It felt almost sick how dependant I was on her. Someone else entered my body, someone forlorn. I vowed never to be that person again but that became harder as words fell from our lips. We could always sense in coming. Everything from the hostility, the resentment to the evitable blowup, we awaited it all. We were bound to lose but we never quit. It's a sick relationship with even sicker people.

Our eyes stared off at the same smudge on the wall. Neither of us spoke for a few centuries. I squeezed her closer to me, breathing in the smell of her. A tear rolled down her cheek. I stroked her hair.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" She whispered. I kissed her forehead. It was all the answer she needed. Trying to take pleasure in the last of the sweet moments together before the explosion, we sat there wrapped in the scent of sweet peppermint.