You may not know this but feelings have a
scent. As dawn folds into day, as we lift the tape and step close the air
changes, becomes thinner, difficult to breath.
Disappointment hangs over us. It
feels like saying goodbye or being lost in a mall when you’re little. It smells
like the husk of a tree freshly pulled from its trunk. Sadness and grief are
similar but not the same. Being sad is more immediate, it’s like knocking hard
on a doorframe but hoping no one is home, its scent is familiar like freshly
cut lawn mixed with an ocean of salty tears. First an anxiety and then a
desperate realisation that nothing will ever be the same, the salt killing the
new shoots of grass all the way to the root. Grief is a constant trickle of
rain, a vacant desire for the sun to ever shine hot on your face again. The
scent, an old attic that’s lost all its memories, dust settling on furniture, a
house with no fresh air.
We wait, standing on the corner of
a stranger’s world, hoping they will one day forgive us.
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