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The last of you

I washed your scent away, the last of you

when I cleaned our sheets – my sheets. That smell of smoke when you started again that sometimes lingered after the butt of fire died out. The smell of you; pheromones and sweat and lynx. The smell I loved, still love, in love.

Did you love how I smelt? Sometimes you said so when I wore the perfume you gave me. But normally you stayed silent. Silent until I coaxed those answers wanted and unwanted from you. I didn’t want the answer you told me when I said I loved you. I thought you just needed time. I didn’t want the answer when I asked again. That last day together. When time was lost.

That day that I wish I had held longer, tighter. But still I wanted to push you away, away from me, from my head, from my bed. But now I wish I breathed you in more, remembered how you felt.

I wish I had you, your smell, your body, just you, just you, just you.

Currently navigating my twenties by getting back into writing poetry, short prose, and everything else in between. 
Blog: https://nextinverse.wordpress.com
Instagram: @the_inverse_

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