Enchanted

The swirling, clouded air in our stuffy studio apartment reeks of skunk and burning tobacco. A variety of lit incenses in the corner does absolutely nothing to cover the stench, although to me it’s a very peaceful aroma. The gloomy fall sky reflects off of the crystal clear, glistening raindrops slipping down the window. Hundreds of shades of green from the forest, not 15 feet from our balcony, splatters the distressed white walls in the room. Tossed on the hardwood floor, beneath the window, a ratty old queen size mattress, the old blue fitted sheet popping off of some corners, pillows struggling not to hit the floor, hanging off of the head and blankets balled up at the foot. Yet I stand by the rusted fridge before opening it to look back, immediately enchanted seeing her lying there. She’s comfortably sprawled out, wearing only my old black, faded “The 1975” t-shirt and her favorite underwear, smoke puffing out of her mouth with a Camel cigarette dangling between her gentle fingers. I quietly yank the fridge door open, trying not to disturb her, and bring back a Blue Moon for her and a Jack and Coke for myself to sip on. I grab my heady glass bong from the windowsill and pack the bowl with grade A medical quality Blue Dream. The first toke is always the best, and as I blow clean white clouds at the ceiling I slowly lean back to lay my head in her lap, while she sits up on her knees to take her hit. She starts running her fingers through my knotted bleach blonde hair, then leans over to kiss my forehead. Flames from candles sitting all over the room make shadows that bounce all around the walls, like friends joining us. She opens the window a crack and breathes in deeply, taking in as much of the fresh, chilled Tennessee mountain air as possible. I feel her hands slide under the top of my shirt, slowly transferring warmth to my cold my bare skin. I start to close my eyes and turn my head to kiss her arm while they rest on my chest. Everything is perfect, I am at peace, until I wake up and realize this is not the world I live in.