L'Air de Rien Miller Harris 2006

When you went away
Kiss-scarred skin
Ashy body parts, soiled by touch
Soundlessly formed letters on the lips
All that remained

A scenario of longing in three chapters. Waking up, still in the intermediate world between dream and reality, cautiously hopeful. Realizing that none of it was a dream. Perceiving the scent between rumpled sheets that is not your own and being pushed to the floor by the harsh realization that you have been left behind. Peeling yourself out of bed in a daze, stumbling over your own feet, searching for balance, only to find the last life raft a few steps further on the kitchen chair. Gaining time, procrastinating, smoking two cigarettes and letting the coffee get cold. Forming syllables with your lips, giving up letters of a name that can no longer be pronounced. Go to the bathroom, examine what is left of the self in the mirror. Mend the kiss scars in a makeshift way, look at the still glowing ashes on the skin, dissociated, where glowing touches have crumbled to dust. Go back to bed, press your face into the familiar pillow, wait. When a nothing left behind becomes an everything. At some point it will pass.
Oh yes, the fragrance: a small pinch of neroli, lots of oakmoss and patchouli, a sweet, humanizing base. Secondary matter. Fragrance-turned-fragile urgency, fueled by intimacy, longing, despair and the memory of the one spot on another neck where one's own face has always found refuge.

With longing thanks to the heart shooter @Jeob for this melancholy world in D minor. It should have been a statement, but didn't want to be limited to 1000 characters.