When she undresses, I close my eyes and taste chocolate toothpaste cake. Y’know, the pudding they served back in school when we were kids. It’s been years since I ate the stuff, but when she stands there before the window without a stitch on she opens so many doors within me, that shit just keeps flooding back. When I’m sat on the bus travelling through the night to where she resides, I sniff the scent of her perfume she had sprayed in a brown paper bag the last time we had been together. As the scent travels through my nostrils and into my lungs, my eyelids flicker and saliva dribbles from the corners of my mouth. As a writer and failed painter, I’m susceptible to the whims of a beautiful muse, and so she plays me however she wants, and I allow it to happen because the sensations she brings are too tremendous to deny. When she goes into the bathroom and takes a shower, I stand there eyeing her up until I feel myself falling through time and splashing into the swimming pool near where my grandparents used to live. Sinking beneath the surface, I kick my legs against the bottom and rise to find all the kids I went to school with are right there with me. They’re calling out my name and smiling, and as the warmth of their childish hearts makes me feel young again, there’s no need to do anything but go with the flow. As she massages some apple-flavoured shower gel into her hair, I think about my old dog, Monty. Watching him as he runs around my parents’ back garden chasing after wasps and rolling on the grass while chewing a stone, the chimes of an ice cream truck call from out front somewhere. It’s a Sunday, and as the smell of a thousand BBQ’s drift through the summer air, I’m gripped by an incredible lightness of being. Whenever she’s in my heart, it’s a beautiful day, and as the walls that keep me prisoner come tumbling down like blades of freshly cut grass being blown in the wind, my head seems less broken than others have lead me to believe.