The Smell of GoodbyeI smell like sadness, a dozen hot summer days infused to my skin, my pupils quiet in the darkness, smeared makeup, cheeto breath, and a thousands reasons to never wake up. I smell like mourning, when someone decides that life is not quite worth 100% while as death will have to wait: the silent grey of monotonous coexistence with reality. I smell like depression, the stench of unmotivation, last week’s morning hair stuck to my scalp. I bet you smell like sandle-wood and sweat. The perfect concoction of masculinity. Then the aroma of a fresh shower, the spice of natural body odor, the tinge of after shave. You’re an atmosphere I’ve almost forgotten existed, but yet can’t breathe without.I remember our smell: an infusion of salty, sweet, and everything in between. Eliciting the most positive kind of medley: like Thai food, just the right amount of all the flavors, the weirdest blends in a captivating combination. An impression that forever lasted, until yesterday.I think about all the yesterday’s because there won’t be any tomorrow, with you. I smell a hint of sour wine, the scent of regret. The brew-ish whiff of a handful of rotten grapes decaying on the windowsill. I smell raw blood leaking from my punctured fingers, grabbing handfuls of shattered glass. I smell smoke as the fire of your anger burns through my memory.I smell him, the acidity of betrayal in your eyes— a skunk would be jealous. The room reeked bitter of broken promises. You were the hallmark of vindication. Today it stinks of ripped hearts and rotting souls. I was the wild card you pulled from a sinking ship, and you were the quiet lullaby my mother used to sing me to sleep.Now you’re just a whiff of a scent I induce in retrospect. The unforgiving stereotype, the savory gourmet sauce that reminds me of criticism. I blame myself, I blame you. Unresponsive is my heart as I cut it from my chest with silver tendrils of crystal glass. It smells of cool afternoon and unwashed carpet. And then it smells like death. Self-blame is a hint of ashes and a rotting open wound filled with maggots. Suicide is the smell of disease infested waters and a million mosquitoes. I hope I’m the whiff you’ll recollect with a smile of sunshine and strawberry ice cream. Because today I smell like decaying contrition. A cold body wrapped in suffocatingly miserable ashes, a final goodbye.
It was idiocy that made fools like us separate in the most of agonizing ways. I can still remember him telling me about his paradise of sunflowers. Arriving to this dreaded state that once held breathtaking memories of love was heavy on this old heart. The only thing I could do now is drown in the endless stalks of lengthy flowers and before trying forget about those angelic cerulean eyes that had spoken to me about them eons ago, with a marveling enthusiasm that would never falter.