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The scent of her perfume permeated the room
Her room
It was decorated in muted rose colors

The perfume had a scent like delicate flowers
It was unforgettable
A bottle of it sat on her dresser
It had a unique look to it
Classic and sophisticated
It was a gift from her husband
She always wore it
It was her perfume
Chanel No 5

Now when I think about it I can almost smell it again
That unforgettable scent
That was part of who she was
It helped define her

Nowadays if I see the perfume in stores or get a whiff of it
I always remember memories of her

They are both sweet and bittersweet
The Sun was late today,
Claims she was stuck in traffic,
Surrounded by clouds that
Would not give way.
She apologises nonetheless,
For any inconvenience caused
The delays and/or distress.

I suspect she simply overslept.
Based on the smell of ethanol,
Cigarettes upon the breath.
Half popped packs of paracetamol
Left discarded on the desk.
The good mornings softly spoken
That shows the will is bent,
Not broken.
Ignoring token take out coffee
Cups of renewable confessions.

It's quite the sight to see,
The one that's always early
Arriving this time dishevelled,
Disoriented, unsettled.
She stumbles through yawns
Stretching out the groans of dawn.
Still she manages a smile.
So the world begins to brighten
At least for a little while.
She’s the kind of friend who knows what you think before you think it.
Her laugh is familiar,
Like hot chocolate on a winter day.
Her presence is safe;
She reminds you of that big tree fort you and your brother built to hide from the fairies
And forest monsters.
Her room is home to you.
It’s where you go when something goes bump in the night.
She will never judge you for the out of pocket things you say or do, and
Her watchful eyes make you feel
Protected and seen for who you are.
She leaves tomorrow.
Back to Kentucky, 2,000 miles away.
And now you’re afraid
That you’ll never have a cup of hot chocolate again.
That the monsters and the fairies will finally catch you
Or the bumps in the night paralyze you with fear.
Nobody will ever know your soul
The way she did
And you’re afraid of being unknown and alone again.
My best friend is leaving and idk what to do about it. She’s home to me.
In our mid-50s on a poetry site for our kids in their 20s. Not on top of the world. Not really. Not in real-time.

And you'll be with me
won't you?

In Paris, never really seeing but always trying not to step on all the sh*t.

And you'll be with me
won't you?

In Berlin, looping around endlessly on some Bahn, making crosses.

And you'll be with me
won't you?

In Rome, running another marathon. OK. Maybe you'll run it and I'll just cheer you on.

And you'll be with me
won't you?

In Los Angeles, in the end-- at the peak looking back to see us coming and foreseeing us going.

You'll be here in our seething cities, cities by the river with me.
Won't you?
Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
One moment it numbs you.
Holding you in denial.
And disbelief.
And the next.
It drowns you in
torrents of tears.
Like a fierce summer
rainstorm.
Where you can barely hold on.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
One moment you relish
in your new freedom.
Your new life.
And the next.
You miss them so much
that it feels like a slow death.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
All that you knew and loved.
Is not there anymore.
And in its place.
Is an empty void.
So hard to endure.
Sometimes you long for things
to be.
As they were before.
When you sit alone.
Pondering.
How life once was.
When your family was together.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
Oh, when will come relief?
Can time really heal this great wound?
Perhaps a little.
Yet the depth of the wound,
and the number of scars,
can only truly be healed.
By the Man of Sorrows.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
Will I ever feel whole and complete again?
When it feels like half of me has been
ripped away.
Leaving a gaping hole.

The Man of Sorrows.
Whispers to my soul.
"It is not irreparable."
I collapse in His arms.
And pour out my grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
And He makes me whole.
Again.
"He is despised and rejected by men, A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief....Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows....But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed." Isaiah 53: 3-5, Holy Bible.
Only Jesus Christ and His Love can heal a broken heart from within, and make us whole again.
Somedays like today
I want to curl up in bed
wanting to hurt myself
somedays like today
I want to drink myself to death
somedays like today
I want to cry till
I don't hear my brain
Somedays like today
I wish I didn't exist
At all
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