I have his shirt on, and the smell is intoxicating. It keeps me going, the warm fabric pressed against my frail body. It's almost as if he's here right now, with me.
I can almost see his Coca-Cola eyes smiling at me with such sincerity and love and kindness.
I can almost feel those arms around me, holding me gently and tightly at the same time.
I can almost feel the weight of his head on my shoulder, those thoughts whirring through his head and me wishing that I could read them.
I can almost bask in the glow of his sure but steady smile, glowing at me.
I can almost hear his voice, that deep but not too deep tonality that keeps me on the edge of my seat practically begging for more.
I can almost taste his lips, feel his body, hear his breathing.
And then there's his scent. The scent of his deoderant and Tommy mixed together with the special masculine scent of him. That special scent, that no one else can copy because it is only his scent and nobody elses. That scent that drives me wild and makes me passionate and resonates within each and every vein in my body.
All I have is a shirt, but sometimes it feels like so much more. I love you so much, Joe.
