I wore sadness like perfume.
It’s false shadow of the memory of you, hung stale.

It’s presence seeped deep within, hidden in familiarity to my fractures, which called to it.

Mountains of granite knew such forces, drawn from within, resistant to very nature of being.

Servant to the promise of pressure only love could provide, I broke.

Shattered to memory as your fragrance returned to you, only grasped in last moments.

Again, I was naked as birth and only lingered my own familiar scent.