bəˈnɑːnə

nothing would change,  like the way your perfume blends in with the smell of your cigs,  or how much you love vanilla bliss, or how you’re haunted by the idea of aliens -and how they will invade our planet, or how you turn all sweaty when you eat spicy food,  or how your body move to your favorite tunes,  or how you would pray to your God each time you passed kilometer zero,  every single thing would still be the exact same old details that lingers in the back of my head . . except,  the way you look at me