Scribbles: A Morning Story

The bedroom seems quieter than the rest of the house; the closet hinges scream when I open the door; wooden hangers rattle like bones as I pull down pressed black pants and search for her favorite blouse. It isn't in the closet. Or the dresser. I even rifle through the dirty clothes hamper.

And then I spot it, folded neatly across the reading chair next to the bed; the Maya-blue button down with a Siamese cat winding sinuously around the collar.

I pick it up.

And it's like she's just passed through the room.

The spice and sweetness of sandalwood and rose surround me and I stumble back to sit on her bed.

I don't realize I'm holding the shirt to my face until I feel the material grow damp and cling to my cheek.

- A Morning Story