You smelled like cigarettes, cologne, and rain on cement.
You never smoked.
I don’t think you did.
Every time you walked by or wrapped around me, I could taste it.
Now you're gone.
Sometimes, I smell you.
I walked outside the other day.
Fresh rain covered the pavement.
Someone was smoking outside.
The hint of perfume was in the air.
I couldn’t help it.
I closed my eyes and inhaled.
It was like you were in front of me.
But, when I opened my eyes, there was an empty space.