He is like a sheepskin rug in a cozy room. Flannel and fire and quiet conversations in warm dim lighting.
He is the scent of pine and fresh grass after a summer rain. The sound of worn pages being leafed through in your favorite novel. The sight of an old friend after a long absence. The taste... well, I can only imagine he tastes of cool birch sap, of wild blackberries in August, of salmon smoked on oak.
And when I am with him, I'm somewhere my soul has known.
PS: It's been a few months since I've written this, and I barely remember E's full name anymore haha. But I loved it and wanted to share.