Used to It

Drove back to my car

and the smell hit different.

Not different. Just—remembered.

Stale coffee pooled in the cup holder,

a penny somehow wedged under the seat,

the vinyl cracked where I always rest my elbow.

Their car still lingered on my clothes—

that aggressive vanilla, like someone

screaming in a department store.

I opened the windows.

Nothing changed.

Mine smells like I've been living in it,

which I guess I have been.