Sunday, March 22, 2015


She smelled like strawberries.

Every room in the house carried a hint of her. It wasn’t sickly sweet or overwhelming.

It was…nice.

He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. A quick inhale caught the scent. He exhaled. On his next intake of air, he held it not wanting to let it out. He wanted it to stay. He wanted it to circulate inside and touch every cell, every receptor. He wanted the smell to find and fill his heart. After a minute, his lungs ached for release. He felt his heart pound in his ears. He needed to breathe.

Two minutes.

His head was light, and he saw spots dancing in front of his eyes. I need to breathe, he thought, but I don’t want to. I just want to…

You need to breathe.

And he exhaled quickly, followed by a rapid succession of ‘in with the good’ and ‘out with the bad.’ More strawberries. More her. He sat upright on the couch and stared out one of the living room windows. He saw one of the hydrangeas blooming. The flowers looked like small pom-pom’s that the little girl cheerleaders use. The blooms were pale blue, and he remembered her saying the acid content of the soil determined the color of the blooms. Sometimes the flowers were pink. He liked the blue ones. She liked the pink ones.

He moved into the next room and inhaled.


She was there.

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