My room smells like man. Cologne, musk, shower, sweet. Smells like memories. It's the smell of things gone. I like having the scent around. Just the scent, though. Maybe one day I'll want the hair, the warm hand, the eyes and the face and the whole body. But today, for a while, I just want the scent. It's a weird, indescribable ghost of feeling: the feeling that I don't especially want anything more. And that is progress. My room smells like progress.
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