As I sit here alone,
I think of you,
and how I miss the scent of you;
how it used to linger on my skin and clothes.
I’d walk around all day,
and even when you weren’t there,
it seemed as though you were next to me, close enough to embrace.
Memories resided in that scent.
But, now, the aroma has long since washed away
from my skin and clothes,
as have some of the memories.
But, I know that in the future,
if I should ever pass that scent again,
those memories will come back as potent as the fragrance.
And I will think of you, again.
Because now, trying to remember your scent
is like trying to remember a train of thought that has been lost,
it is almost within grasp, but always out of reach.
It is a ghost, a phantom,
as you are, and will be, until we meet again.