I come home to an empty house for the first time in months.
The air is humid and thick with the smell of cigarettes and your cologne. It’s like you left your essence for me to live off of while you’re gone, breathing in each chemical-laden breath of used air like it could just be my last. But this isn’t the kind of loneliness I’m used to.
It’s not heavy or dark. It doesn’t pin me down to my bed and drain my limbs of life. This loneliness is more like buttercream frosting. An over frosted cupcake is still delicious, but it makes my stomach churn just a little. A tiny taste of discomfort.
That’s how it feels to be in this room, surrounded by you while you’re far away. Your scent reminds me that I’ll be enveloped in your arms, clad in sleeves that are drenched with the smells of tobacco and axe Phoenix, before it even has time to fade.