smell he smells like distant wood smoke with vanilla and old leather. he holds you down into the mattress and the sheets are lilac and white lavender. you can smell the sun in the room, you can smell the spring — the pine trees, the flowers, the crisp breeze and fresh, open air. it all melts into a seam against his extinguished campfire, salt, oak wood, masculine and hard but familiar. it's his undertone of soft vanilla that binds them all together, that makes you both fit in with the dying sunlight. it entwines both worlds and fills up your lungs when you yell out. he's earthy and always says you smell like rain. you belong in the light.