I wrote this initially as a poem, but then I decided it was leaving too much unsaid that I wanted to say. I don’t like to be direct with my poetry, so I thought that I would instead rewrite this as flash fiction.
That faceless girl whirls past in bright swirl of scent and fabric. She creates an almost-space in the air behind. Her scent pours into it, making me lightheaded like nitrous oxide. It drags me back into the past, my heels leave a groove in the sand. I remember the times I spent with that scent. Sitting too close together; close enough that the petals of her perfume fizzed on the tip of my tongue. Electric currents twitching through me. That fragrance creates a void into which memory sometimes falls when we suffer that terrible feeling of regret. The perfume bottle shattered on the bathroom tile, behind the locked door. Your sorrow flowed out and covered the mountains.