I still sleep with your sweatshirt even though I'm 96% sure you kick puppies between work shifts for fun.
I haven't washed it yet, so when the splendid flaming sunset's faded to ashy grey, when my fan you always hated blows just right, at the strangest of times when I catch myself not thinking of you... it still smells just like that last August night.
It smells like the cologne I bought for you that you wore to meet up with that other girl. It smells like your stern voice when you saw my tears, it smells like the last time you told me you loved me.
And in that funny way where lasts become firsts it also smells like the first time you kissed me, it smells like the first time you saw me cry and promised me I would get through all the pain, it smells like the first time you showed me you loved me.
But babies cry when they see you and now so do I, so I should probably put it through the wash and send it to goodwill...
Maybe I'll do that tomorrow.



















