A Good-bye letter
It took me two years to write this
After we broke up, I kept smelling your perfum everywhere I went. From the public transportation to bakery shops. I thought it was stuck in my clothes or my brain.
I read somewhere that if you suddenly catch a sniff of someone’s scent, it could mean they’re thinking of you or miss you. But I know you don’t, and I don’t miss you either.
Months later I found out that it was a cheap soup that men insisted on using. Still, it was your smell.
Most of the time, I don’t like to explain my feelings. Especially, when they come from my five senses. Maybe is my Venus in Taurus, but I have a relationship with smells that is very particular to me.
When I was seven, I decided I would never eat fish or seafood because I didn’t like the smell. I’m 30, and I live by that. When I feel out of my body, I smell my blackberry hand lotion. It grounds me and brings me comfort.
One day, I got this free simple perfume at the mall that reminded me of a Korean girl I met 10 years ago in England. Suddenly, I felt a specific feeling: Saudade. The Portuguese word for when you miss someone. I decided to bring her with me by turning her into my daily perfume.
I used to date this guy who didn’t have a smell. It’s odd to say it because everybody has a particular smell, but he didn’t. It could be because he didn’t feel anything about anyone or anything. He was empty.
But you were better than all of those before. Although we didn’t always make sense, I don’t regret us, even if it seems like you do.
I don’t regret the nights we spent talking. I don’t regret waking up in the middle of the night with you pulling me closer; I don’t regret waking up with your cat singing a serenade in the living room. By the way, I hope your cat is okay. He was acting weird the last time I saw you, and it might be because you were too.
However, I do regret meeting you for the last time after three months of silent treatment because you didn’t know how to deal with your emotions. I also regret accepting those photos you took of me with your analogue camera.
“You took 36 photos. All of them will be ruined, instead of the ones I am in it”. I said to my friend laughing.
A nervous laugh. A heartache laugh. Angry laugh. A different day, a different feeling. During the worst days, a mix of them. Constantly asking myself, “What am I feeling?”.
I think I jinxed you that day. Only three of the photos turned out good, and they were all of me on our first date. My words ricocheted. Now I can’t seem to get rid of these pictures. They show a woman whose smile I don’t even recognize. Raw, black and white giving a chance to the nice guy.
For some reason, you expected me to save you. It might be because I’m the eldest daughter. The heaviness you placed on me hurted my tiny shoulders and made my arms numb.
It’s all gone now. All the words you said. All the feelings I felt.
I can’t smell you anymore. I can’t even remember the scent of a cheap soup. Maybe that is my way of slowly detaching myself from someone. Maybe, is my way of saying goodbye.
