A Letter that Will Never be Sent- A Short Story

The one thing I could never forgive is not allowing myself to rest my head on your shoulder one last time.

I was on the train the other day heading back to my apartment after work tired and nursing a dull, throbbing headache. It had been a Thursday evening on the Brooklyn bound N train which sometimes is fairly empty after eight. Yes, I’m still staying at the office later than I should. I know, I know. You must be terribly disappointed in me. No, no I doubt you are. Tenacity had always been a suit of mine you enjoyed seeing me wear.

I sat in a seat just next to the door facing forward and rested my head, feeling myself slowing drifting into Neverland. A man boarded the train two stops later taking a seat while leaving the middle one unoccupied. I could smell his cologne. It was fruity but not overpowering. I could sleep the night away the nights you weren’t in my bed because your scent soothed me. It moved my soul like a slow dance under a pale moonlit night with a billion stars shining down.

I almost lost it smelling that scent because I miss you. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be thinking of you. You said you loved me but a shadow concealed your true nature. Even while I was crying as we made love and utterly “I love you” feeling terribly vulnerable I knew the voice that said “I love you too” didn’t belong to you.

I was a fool for you. I would have done anything for you. Your smile is an imprint on my heart that cannot be dusted away. You walked all over it. It seems as though the path is worn. I know not when it shall be paved again but am not naive in thinking you were it. But I cannot stand that your smell has hijacked the orifice of my nose. Is this what its like to be under the influence?

There was a time when I would have given anything for your touch again. One more whiff of your cologne. Then, the path had become paved. Time spun normally and I lived without you. But then I saw you on that very train that is causing me to think of you now, feeling the same as I do, and I wanted so badly to allow my hair to fall onto your chest as the weights tied to my eyes slumped.

You said that you were leaving New York but only for a year. Three months after your departure date I received a call from your brother saying there was an accident on a highway. You had saved two lives but somehow on the way to the ER yours hadn’t been spared. Now I will never have the chance to take in your scent. I could meet a man who wears your cologne but it isn’t the same. It will never be. And even though you hurt me it hurts even more knowing I can’t smell you just one last time.

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