Light incense and wait; seductive aroma flows, a mix of cedarwood, spice, and cypress, spiraling, snaking all around. Smell him in the room. Assurance swells: He will call. Sultry scent grows faint. This seductive smog -- this mossy-sweet musk, with hints of mint and myrrh -- stirs memories of him and me. I choke on the smoke and mental souvenirs, supplicating still— Make him call. Panic possesses me, burns away trust and certainty, leaving ashes of putrid hope, smoldering doubt. Room reeks of weeks wasted wanting and wishing to hear his voice feel his love. Conjure him again and again, whisper pleas and prayers into the freshly cleansed air; but my desperate petitions go unheard until Sultry scent of incense descends Invoked words glow like embers in the dark: “It’s more than love.”
Originally published in The Fear Journal
Featured photo by Jaclyn Moy on Unsplash
