A snick of the door and then silence. Blessed silence. Who left? The strangers or dad?
…
The air moves with the trail of something delicious. Sandalwood and freshly laundered warmth. Is there a smell for that? There must be because I smell it. Like the warm smell from clothes when you’ve just pulled them from the dryer. This person smells clean, minty even.
He apologizes to me and grabs my hand. There’s the warm again: warm skin, warm scent, warm comfort. Warm air, puffed from his mouth, hits my cheek as he leans towards me to speak. Warm mint…
…
Slowly seeping back into the nothing, I embrace the release. The pain is forgotten, but now, my veins pulse with ice.
I stay in the cold. I wish he could bring back his warm.
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