I wrote a poem in my head earlier, but it was too lengthy to remember. It was about the senses. Do we have five or six I can't recall, yet there was the one movie with that ugly little kid- ah yes. We have six. Taste. The first taste that comes to mind when I think of taste is white chocolate. Microwaved in the safe plate to a melty perfection where I dipped my grimy five year old fingers in when my mom wasn't looking- of course, because it wasn't for me. It was for her dessert she made every Christmas. Smell. When I inhaled through my nose I smell my horse's coat, thick and black just like the combination of evolution and winter made it to be, tangled in my fingers as I hugged him and he hugged me back. He smells like old leather and alfalfa and just the right amount of salt. Touch. I remember wriggling my feet around in the softest sheets I had ever felt in my parents bed. I would sometimes sneak into it at night and pull up the pant legs of my pink horsie pj's just to feet the green silk on my hairy ten year old calves. I remember touching my face in sixth grade when acne first appeared and christen showed me how to pop a pimple and I gagged and i told myself "You will look like this for the rest of your life and everyone will think you are a ugly."Sound. I can hear the sound of my ceiling fan groaning with every rotation and the strange static sound that invades my ears sometimes. I can head my dad marching up and down the hallway, making sure every dust bunny, spider, animal, bug, plant, and family member can understand how frustrated he is that the front door was unlocked when we got back from church. Sight. Looking at the grand majesty of the waterfalls of Yosemite I can remember looking at my black shoes and racing my cousins up the mossy steps towards the top. I am in second grade and can finally read and understand any word that approached me. Except suicide. What did that sign mean when it said that many people have committed suicide by throwing themselves over a waterfall as breathtaking as this one? The sixth sense I would like to introduce is Energy. I first felt pure, raw, astonishing energy when we had a smoke together for the first time. I wore a pink dress with flowers that I told Mariah I was borrowing for a wedding because I was too embarrassed to say I was hanging out with a boy. You pissed in a tumble weed that day, yet before that, your pinky touched mine ever so gently and my legs shook. Because of this stupid short dress I knew it was completely visible that my legs were vibrating and sweat started making puddles around my hands. Were you doing this or was it me? Did I put my hand there or did your pinky creep it's way up to sit on mine, giving me a taste in my mouth that was white chocolate and a smell that was my horse's fur and a a touch that was not the horrific bumps of middle school acne and a sound in my ears of my dad marching angrily up and down the hallway feet booming against the ground like land minds, a sight that was water flying over a thousand foot cliff smashing sharp rocks below and where my mind landed, was that you had given me this one mystery to foreshadow what type of sense that I had never know was about to hit me in all my senses.