A touch of her rosemary and mint perfume lingers in the air. Sometimes I smell it. Sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes it catches me when I’m lost in a good book. It passes by as if she is there, walking from one side of the room to the other.
Sometimes I catch it when I’m in the shower. I pull back the curtain, expecting and hoping to see her reflection in the mirror.
Sometimes it overpowers the scent of my food.
Every time I smell it, I miss her more.
I could leave this house and move away. Leave her perfume and all of those memories far behind.
That is what I think late at night, when her scent is missing. When I miss her the most.
Then, I wake.
The touch of her rosemary and mint perfume wakes with me.
And so I stay.