honeysuckle breeze.

the air is sweet here. not saccharin or candy sweet, but the kind that you know is for real. no state that i have ever lived in has had the air that texas has in the spring.

i remember it from when i was little. across the street from our house, i was seven or so, there were bushes of honeysuckle. every morning, when i stepped out of the house for school, i took a deep breath. my lungs became honeysuckle. my best friend and i would walk along the bushes ... running our hands through the tiny flowers, pretending that we lived inside of a honeysuckle blossom.

"and if we did, we could make tea that would taste like sweet, and the bumblebees would be our best friends," he said.

in the afternoons, he and i would dive into the tiny openings between the plants in his backyard. if we went deep enough, we found the blackberry bushes, and ruined our dinner.

when he moved away, i sat in the trees by myself and still talked to him like he was there. it was the first time i learned what it is to miss someone. i didn't cry. i just assumed that he had to go because he was supposed to.

now, the air here is sweet, and i don't want to cry. i want to sit in trees and talk.