Your clothes arrived yesterday.
My entire bedroom smelled of you.
I kept thinking about it. Your smell.
Your death. How could it be possible?
To have your scent in the same room with me,
Your scent, lively, from when you were alive,
How could it be cut off, succeed in surviving?
For how long? How long can I resist to
Put your clothes in the washing machine?
Will you stay? Will you leave your scent here
With me? I can smell your perfume on the collar.
The products you used, your scent on your sleeves,
How can it be there, how can it linger without you?
I miss you so much. I lit your candle just now.
There you are. With me. Your clothes are here
With me. I shoved my face into the multitude
Of textures containing your scent, touched, effortlessly,
By your skin, your pure soul, it hurts so much,
I don’t want that scent to go away, I grew up with that scent,
I loved that scent from the moment you were born with it.
Croque-Melpomene 
I love this so much. It’s difficult to fathom that our loved ones would die one day. This reminded me of my grandfather’s and my uncle’s deaths. I watched my family reach out for things that made them feel closer to them. They wanted to see, smell, and hear them as if they were still with us.
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I couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you for taking the time to write me. I really appreciate your beautiful words and despite the pain that we share I am happy that just as much love is expressed, if not more. All the best to you.
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