I still smell her, not just her perfume, but her beneath of
the mask of scents that accumulated in this space, this place near our office
window where she could stare out at the skyline, asking herself why she is here
and not over there, a scent so acute I choke on it, and yet, still feel the
need to get closer, right up to the space where he scent is strongest, I
breathe it in and drown on it, so filled up I can’t take in anything else
except her, not a sweet or sour odor, maybe both, a scent that stirs me up
inside and forces a scent of my own to pour out of every pore, just from
smelling her. I can’t hide it, can’t put it all back into a box, once out, I’m
overwhelmed and must deal with it, somewhere private, so that when others who
reside here won’t discover how I feel.
I still smell her here, a fragrance lingering on the chair
in which she sat, on her desk, on my shoulders just from passing her on their
stairs, or when she used to pause at the top and stare down at me, her scent
filling up this whole world, still here, as is the echo of her voice when she
used to walk and talk, now caught up in the fabric of my universe, even though
she has gone, not too sweet, or sour, no, a scent absolutely perfect.
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