T H R E A D B A R E

She was the scent that gets delicately framed in summer’s dried rose petals, locked in burgundy sheets tightly strapped to corners and suffocated by the protectors of fading moments before being bound in gold leaves and cast away in darkness, saved for a future memoir.

He felt he’d known her forever, that she was a 1970’s polaroid come to life, similar to the ones he’d recently come across, boxed, placed in a corner of his closet and covered with blankets, shoes, suits and winter coats, anything that would outweigh and cover the scent of sadness.

Whenever he reaches for his boots he remembers her acid-free smile and how she smelled like lavender and freedom. 

Image result for high def rose pink and lavender