A Series of Observations

I bought a candle that smells like your cologne.

I swear I didn’t realize when I bought it.

That candle sat and waited to be lit in the cupboard in my kitchen, I think we were still together then.

I hardly knew what I had done until it came time to light it, then felt unbearably lonely. A reminder of where you aren’t.

Yet somehow you were there in that moment. A touch that lingered with that scent, arms wrapped around me and the feeling of being so comfortably warm for once.

I should’ve thrown away that candle, put it in the box of all the other things that remind me of you, but I won’t.

I never could imagine getting rid of you, or wanting to.

So I light that candle and savor each minute of the smell of your cologne, that brings you back to me even if it is only in memories.

At least until the candle runs out, I’ll have you here again.