the scent of you still lingers.
a piece of you is embroidered into my pillow,
and i can never bring myself to wash it;
to get rid of the only remnant of you that i have left.
so it remains,
the pillow tucked away in the corner of my bed, untouched.
untouched, until i miss you. until i lie awake, staring at the ceiling.
only then, do i touch it.
only then, do i hold it, and breathe in your scent.