She

She smells like drunken three AM philosophical conversations

Sitting on the grass

Pants wet from the not-quite-dawn-yet dew

Like the aroma of iced-tea on a hot day

Sweat rolling down tense necks

Sweet ice cold salvation quenching parched lips

She smells unassuming

Like a quiet confidence reflected in the fire of her eyes

The reek of determination and nurturing

Rolling off of her like comic-drawn heat waves

Tangible

She sounds like the voice you knew all along

Like a forgotten memory

A wisp of echoing melody you can’t quite place

Like the name of a song you know intimately

But can’t quite say

She sounds like distant ocean waves

Crashing along the shore

Calm

Yet hiding a raging riptide underneath

She sounds like sizzling blueberry pancakes in the morning

Buttery crinkling of home-cooked comfort

She feels like

Sweaty palms and pounding hearts

Like blazing rays of possibility

The first splash of heat across your face

Staring into a sunrise

Shielding squinted eyes with hands to block out the overwhelming radiance

She feels like redemption

Like the culmination of a lifetime’s work

Like a patchwork quilt

Built by holy hands designed to wrap around

And smother hesitation

She feels like home