March 18

He had left. She watched him walk out the door. And yet, his presence filled the atmosphere in the room. He would be back in a few hours; he had stepped out to run an errand and yet, he still lingered like a ghost, like the fragrance of a strong perfume that clings onto the skin. He was there walking beside her into whichever room she wandered. Her mind knew that it was only a matter of a few hours and yet her heart ached for his touch, his whispers in her ear, to hear his laughter, to catch the gold in the brown of his eyes, to wrap her arms around his neck and rest her face in the tiny gap in between them. Somehow it was never enough for her; she could never get enough of him. He was elusive like his scent that she carried on her blouse that morning.

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