the end times…

I remember the smell of your cologne and how gently you’d hold me.  Like a flower, fragile in your rough palms and fingers, careful not to smash me.

The air around me is thin now.  I barely smell as I did before.

Not since you left.

It’s like that warm corner you filled is empty and waiting.  Cueing for the day when the madness will end.  I’d say, I hope you write back soon, but I know you won’t.  You won’t be getting this letter, Pete.

Even if you got it – nothing would change.  You’re mother hasn’t heard from you in weeks, she’s losing her mind.  Did you know?  I’m sure you’ve gotten each one of her letters.  She begs me to give her all I have of you.  I know I should, but I cannot.

If I were to give in, I’d lose every bit of you that I have left.

Then the smell would be completely gone.

I’m convinced you still think about me – as I of you.  Each night, as I lay my head down on my bed, I think of you.  I press my nose on my pillow and inhale as much as I can.  I search for your scent and pray to God there’s still some left.  However, everyone has told me the aroma will eventually fade away and I am so fearful of the day.

Your cologne is out and I can no longer spray it all around me.  Sure, I suppose I could buy a new bottle, but it wouldn’t be yours.  It’d be a new thing I bought, just like all the other new things I’ve bought.

Soon our room will not be ours but only mine.

My mother has already began cleaning out your things, while I pound and gag my eyes out.  She says the air needs cleaning as the room.

But she doesn’t understand.

What if you come back?  I know, the end times… yes, of course, they are coming.  Not everything can last forever, but I never thought I’d lose you so soon and in such a way.

Please come back to me.  At least, write to me – tell me you haven’t forgotten.

Remind me how well you write.

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