Senses

Most of the time, people are faces for me. Sometimes they're just eyes. Or lips. Or some conspicuous facial feature. Some I recognise by their gait or the sound of their heels striking the pavement, or their back - specially their back, as I continue watching someone long after we've parted ways. Some people are chomping noises, or gurgling noises. Some are rasping voices. Whatever they are to me, I don't see or remember anything else of them.

Apart from her. If only I could draw what's in my mind, I could limn her down to the last beauty spot or to the last scar. If only I could detail her smell, you would know. You would fall in love like I did. If only I could describe the grain of her skin, or make you hear her laugh, you would, no doubt, fall for her, like I did. Three days ago, she was still but a murmur in my mind. Now she is so meticulously, incredibly loud and painstakingly vivid my senses hurt to remember, and not to feel.