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Dec 2018 · 104
Residual Effects
Annika Aberdeen Dec 2018
Darkness envelops my room as I turn off the light, cut by a sliver of soft, orange glow radiating through my curtains from the streetlamp outside.
The world is silent, save for the staccato patter of rain hitting the pavement and the whir of the fridge in the next room.
A subtle taste of mint fills my mouth, soon to be replaced by the bitter flavours of the morning.
The scent of coconut from my shampoo mixes with the homeliness of my bedsheets as I climb underneath, lulling me into a sleepy daze.
As I turn over, I reach my arm out, hoping to feel warmth radiating from your side of the bed. Instead, all I feel is the soft scratch of flannel and the delicate caress of a tear rolling down my cheek.

— The End —