The smell of you sobers me up. Brings me crash-landing back to earth, back to everyday routines and a lawn that needs mowing. Pulls me up- plucks me like a weed and tried to plant a flower on its grave. I’m sorry to tell you it was a dandelion, you seem to be stuck in a loop, seem to repeat everything. You left diversity hanging out on the clothesline next to its twin variety. Every time I try to escape ordinary you suck me back in, claiming I am most beautiful… plain. But, I want vibrancy; I want the cliché “drunk on your love” life yet, I’m stuck here scrubbing the sauce off your plate and rinsing the tea from my cup. The only thing that makes me high is the smell of laundry detergent but one look at your wrinkled t-shirts, and I’m reminded of my boring, non-passionate life with you. Yes, I was serious when I said the smell of you sobers me up but, I guess we can’t all be worthy of great things.