By the time the months were up, the perfume had become a representation of everything that was left undone. I would catch sight of it while putting away or searching for an item in the drawer and I would quickly shove it away as if I were trying to keep the pain in. I missed him even in the most insignificant ways, his low humming while cooking, his head tilting when thinking, his soft reminders to take a break when I was working too much.
It was once love that filled every corner of our home, and now it was the absence which even though silent was heard very loud.
One gray day about a year later when I decided to clean that drawer after all, not because I wanted to delete his memories but rather to create a truce with them, I removed the perfume, it slipped off my hand, and hit the ground. The cap went under the bed and whilst I was bending down to get it, I noticed something small and folded slipping out underneath the label.
