Four/Twenty-seven

The woman who has just taken the empty seat next to me wears the same fragrance I been programmed to tie to you. I, for a moment, forget where I am, forget who I am, and mesh again as the being we formerly referred to as Us.

These senses take command and they tell my eyelids to be lowered. You have returned to me in this train, as a scent, something formulaically manufactured and bottled and sold with a smile and an empty compliment in the corner of a department store.

You return and reveal the memory I have failed to bury.

Three more stops before I can exit and let you race into the dark of the tunnel. Reminders like these, the ones you know nothing about, floor me. 

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