programchaos

It's a cold and cloudy day. The smell of you on my sheets is barely perceptible now, like the faint smell of cologne on a handkerchief stuffed into a drawer only to be discovered years later. Do I remember you? Do I remember what we had had and what we did together anymore or was that just a dream? I feel like i've voluntarily sat down in a bucket of cold water to write this. I've got to stand up now.