Tara Draper

"and then you were...". Content Warning.

And then you were gone. There was no warning. There was you. And then there was the memory of you. Words half spoken, laughter hilted by your absence, silence so profound that it was felt–a living breathing thing, heavy, and unrelenting. Only pieces of you remained. The smell of your shampoo on the pillows, coconut and vanilla, tainting the silk with waves of nostalgia that felt like punches to the gut. The smell of your perfume–jasmine and almond. The dress that you wore to dinner–red silk abandoned on the floor. Your hairbrush, strands of onyx black wrapped around it.