by S.A. Prince
When the pillow smells like her and you clench it close in her absence. Her pheromones whisper sweet nothings though she’s a mile away, and I’m stuck staring at the morning’s leftovers. What a drug, an aromatic lingering. You can literally taste last night. You know I try to front on you when you’re around, but when you’re gone life itself is painstakingly purposeless. Come Home.
…wouldn’t that kind of love be amazing?
I miss seeing your face. It’s just not the same anymore. This empty swivel seat remains a vestigial of memories, your cute button nose, that million dollar smile and goofy giggle have all but become silhouettes. This is my reaching out, you know, to see if you feel how I feel, if you miss what I’ve been missing. You left too soon, but it’s not too late, not while I still hold a piece of you close. Don’t become my amnesia. I don’t want to forget yet…