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Writer's pictureC. Reis

Love is a Scent

Sitting in our house. 

The air smells sweet

It smells like home. 

A smell no one can create


The musty smell from the basement mixed with honeysuckle febreeze. 

The air remains unchanged, 

Unaltered by time.


Sitting here I hear the ticking clock

Time is passing by. 

This room, this house I used to love 

Soon, I must say my last goodbye.


The windchime you bought me this birthday past is singing. 

My, what a glorious sound 

Echoing the sound of motors revving and the strength of the wind coming without abound.

 

The air is still and crisp. 

There is the faint smell of home 

For a dwelling that is dwelled in 

Should not have a beautiful smell

Because it’s a dwelling that sits alone. 


But the smell is if my home.  It smells like the day you left

The air is still and quiet

Just as it was when you took your last breathe. 

The air becomes constricting

It’s cold and not so dear

The thought of your last breath in this house,

Why do I hold it so dear?

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