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I miss you

There’s this faint, delicate scent that lingers in my memory. I can’t tell you exactly what it was. It was so simple, yet so elusive, that even today I struggle to put it into words. But I always remember her scent - hers alone, the one that filled the air when she’d hold me close. The warmth, the reassurance, the tenderness… all woven together in a fragrance I still can’t define. I try, though. Some days, I walk through the aisles of shops, hoping a hint of that scent will drift toward me, that I’ll recognize it in some bottle, some fleeting mist. But it’s always just out of reach, a ghost I can almost touch.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I’m supposed to feel happy, to be surrounded by loved ones, yet there’s always this hollow space that no one else can fill. It’s a space she left behind. I want to hear her voice, feel her arms around me, see her eyes light up with pride like I imagine they would. I don’t even remember all the details of her face anymore, not in the way I’d like to. It’s her scent that’s stuck with me, imprinted on my soul like a whisper, an echo of a love that was mine once.

In all the moments that pass, in every milestone, every birthday, I feel the weight of her absence. I imagine her sitting beside me, sharing a laugh, maybe holding my hand as she tells me stories of my childhood that I’ll never get to hear. These are dreams now, fading as the years go by, as memory blends with imagination. Yet that scent, her scent, remains.

Happy birthday to me, I guess. But really, it’s to you, Mom. Wherever you are, know that I miss you with all that I am. I’d give anything to have you here, to breathe in that scent again and feel complete, if only for a moment.