It was similar to the nonexistent feeling of your hand in mine,
It felt like all the flights I never saw you take back home when you had to leave San Francisco.
It felt like your lips.
Except I know we've never kissed before.
It smelled like your perfume at three in the morning except I never knew what beauty smelled like.
It smelled like your favorite shirt on a Tuesday afternoon except I don't even know what kind of shirts you wear.
It felt like the way you'd smile in the middle of a kiss,
Except I don't remember if we've kissed or not.
It was the secrets the stars took from us on a Thursday at twelve in the morning
And the vague memory of you peaceful sleeping.
I know I've kissed you, but you hardly put your hands on me anymore.