As I was sitting out on the porch last night – bathing in the soft, silver moon light and feeling the late October midnight dew settling on my skin – Zephyrus the West wind swept down by my side and sighed, ever so gentle, ever so forlorn.
How long has it been? Four, almost five months now? It’s about time to let go, isn’t it? In fact, this whole thing has already been overdue ever since the moment your eyes went cold. I was holding onto nothing.
I finally mustered up enough courage to unpack the last box of my things. It has been quite a while since I got back, yet as soon as I opened it, the smell of home gushed out and before I even knew it, I was fighting back tears. Feelings and memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, washing over me and pulling me under, back to the place where you were mine, and I was yours alone.
Someone greeted me today with a “How are you,” and, absentmindedly, I replied “Dandy.” As soon as the word left my mouth, I regretted it immediately because I could feel my chest tightened as tears welled up in my eyes.
I looked up at the sky tonight, wondering if, from the other side of the continent, you were also having a moment of nostalgia, but then I realized that you were probably at work, busy carrying on a life without me.
As I hauled myself into bed last night and dropped down on the pillow, I thought I caught a whiff of your scent and started sniffing around frantically to see where it was coming from, even when I knew that it couldn’t have been because the sheet and pillowcases have been washed ever since. I think that when you miss a person, the thing that always pulls you down is the way they smell – not their perfume or body spray or the soap they use, but just the simple, genuine scent of their skin that no one else has – and I was missing you.
It was the first time that I made acquaintance with the term “Passive Suicidal Ideation.” What this means is that I’m not actively trying to kill myself, but if death comes, I would have been very happy to die.