if jackie isn’t your idol you’re lying
PRAISE JACKIE FOREVER.
"my bare hands, obviously."
I wrap my arm around his waist and take a deep breath off his shoulder. He smells like sweat and fresh air and mint, from the salve he sometimes uses to relax his sore muscles. He smells safe, too, like sunlit walks in the orchard and silent breakfasts in the dining hall. And in the moments before I drift off to sleep, I almost forget about our war-torn city and all the conflict that will come to find us soon, if we don’t find it first.
In the moments before I drift off to sleep, I hear him whisper, “I love you Tris.”
And maybe I would say it back, but I am too far gone.
Mad Men (2007)