Missed the boat

It's ok that I did not make it on the ship. I would have been back state-side by now, and in a mild depression missing him terribly. This way, life goes about with the same rhythm and routine, and loneliness creeps in the usual, predictable ways, where I do nothing but close my eyes and repeat, "Soon. Soon. Soon."

Scent

She smelled exactly like Paris, even though she had never been. Still, the perfume was as sweet and as foreign as an alleyway in an ancient metropolis.

Another question to ask

"God isn't dead and he isn't sleeping."

Huh. I rather like to think of God sleeping. That's when the best creations and most brilliant ideas come in our dreams, and if sleep isn't involved, then what is the process exactly?