Winter Blues

You left me shivering and wet.

I waited there, dripping, as I watched you disappear into the night. I didn’t know if I’d see you again. I like to think that you’ll come back; but then again, I didn’t think you’d leave me in the first place.

My skin still smells like you.

The rich scent of petitgrain twisting with hints of vanilla; hinting at something much sweeter than you were. It lingers in my hair that you brushed away from my face. It’s hidden in the folds of my clothes, even as they lay on my bedroom floor. It’s soaked into my skin from everywhere you touched me.

But you left me.

And now I’m stuck waiting, wondering if you’ll come back and how soon. Will you turn on your heel and come running back through the door? Will the sight of you warm me again? Will I be dry?

I sink into the fabric, pulling it closer into my skin, desperately trying to regain some warmth.

I want to move.

I want to take a hot shower and scrub my skin until I smell like me again. I want to walk away from the cold, damp night. I want to run so fast I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, rather than breaking in my chest.

I want to move.

But mother always told me that when you lose someone, you stay put and wait for them to return.


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