Faded Colognes

Opened the closet, just to grab

a jacket, something for the rain.

And there it was, a familiar jab,

a scent I swore I wouldn't know again.

His sweater, dark blue, heavy wool,

had caught it, held it in its weave.

That same old cologne, still acting cool,

a phantom promise, just to deceive.

Underneath, something else, like dust

or old paper, something settled deep.

A quiet, lingering, broken trust,

a forgotten secret it seemed to keep.

Just that air, the absence thick and cold.

A history, breathed in through my nose.

Another story, quietly untold,

closing the door, as slowly as it goes.