The smell of cologne lingers near the door.

A soft wind drifts through a crack,

Pushing the scent into me.

A chill dripping down my spine.

The scent is familiar.

Like something I’ve smelled every day.

In the super market.

On the street.

Something familiar,

But all together foriegn.

You don’t wear cologne.

The bottle I got you four years ago,

Sits full in the bathroom closet.

The scent long gone stale.

This one though,

Is fresh.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Dancing a shiver over my shoulders.

A whisper hanging between me,

and the empty space I stare into beside the door.

The cologne fading.

Leaving no trace.

When I bring it up to you later,

You look back at me over your shoulder.

Surprise lighting your eye.

You tell me you’ve smelled it to.

We stare at the spot together.


Shaking it off.

But I can’t stop thinking about it.

How the smell coiled through me.

Fear shadowing my heart.

Fear not for the unknown,

But for how the smell warmed me.

Like an embrace.

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