Never-Accomplished Writing

It was first time I caught a whiff of her. She smelled like a new book. You pick up a new book from the fancy store shelf, the crisp and the newly minted yellow leaves summoning you. Untouched and tempting. You press the edge of the bound pages against your nostrils. Your thumb slowly flares the pages against your nose, as though to squeeze the smell out.

It smelled like a spirit that my spirit longed to be acquainted.