“that afternoon after a long solitary wander through the woods, i found your missing glove. i knew it was yours by the way it smelled; your own unique blend of you and that expensive french potion you used in the winter to protect them from the elements, to keep them soft.
i kept it in my pocket for a long time. i kept it close. occasionally i would take it out and hold it in my hand, imagining your hand in mine, again. then i would smell it. i’d inhale deeply, it felt like drawing you inside me, into my lungs, back inside the cells of my body. it was good to have your scent on me again…”