Scent From the Past

I have been feeling quite surreal recently, as if my head is over the clouds. I am not capable of taking anything serious. I still worry about everyday life and problems. To be frank, I see snow everywhere despite closing my eyes, the snow that blurres everything…

I see a girl passing by in the blizzard. She is shining with joy and burning with anger, the girl who is sorrowful and heartbroken. As cold as ice her eyes are, yet her glance is warmer than bright sun. She is I, yet more than me. She is the one who I love most dearly.

She keeps putting a step in front of another, while changing form. Reminding me every soul I own. Those souls belonging to everyone I know are desperate for her from the night until morn. She gets a glimpse of me on her shoulder, starting to walk faster. Now, it feels like I am chasing her. Chasing myself, yet more than me.

The fog gets heavier and thicker, sticking on my skin. ‘I am losing her!’ says me to myself in this body. ‘ You did not own me to begin with!’ shouts girl pacing up, pacing up to lose me. I trip down on the snow, or use it as an excuse to not follow her.

I watch her fade away in the snowstorm, leaving not even footprints behind. I think that she needed the most effort to reach anyway, as if I am not the one who is lying.

Everything belonged to us in the past, to me and her who is more than me. Now, I am all alone standing in a room with six ice walls. Taking six steps to find a door, realising I imprisoned myself with a sentence for six years long.

A music starts, first with a valtz tempo. Slowly increasing in the beat like she did. Now the music is bareable no longer, it is all chaos. Suddenly it stops, or I become deaf. I hear a knock on a wall, or feel the vibrations under my feet. I cannot hear it, but I know that it was me, who is more than me, knocking on the door, mocking me. I realise that one should love everyone, and how hard it is to miss out none.

Confused is the most innocent word to describe me, not the one who is more than me, just the remaining half named disappointment. It is not her smile, laughter, joy, anger, sadness, lies, dread and tears remaing, but just the sweet yet sorrowful scent she left behind. It is the same scent that keeps mockig me.

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