Addicted

Written by Jacob Ibrag

I remember the last time I saw you. We were Rorschach

images, bent out of shape. Goodbye’s aren’t meant for people like

us, at least that’s what we thought at the time. In between tears, you would

smile and remain in denial. As the end neared, memories flooded the space.

We talked about everything, mostly the good stuff. For one last moment,

 our fingers were intertwined. I’ll never forget this particular smell you

gave off. Even on the coldest day, I’d inhale Spring. You were a drug, and

I thrived on it. We promised that no matter what happened, we would

meet once more in forty years underneath the tree I first found you,

reading Persuasion. After a flight, a bus, and a two mile walk, I

was here. There you were, looking out to the sunset. Spring

was here, and Winter had just begun. With a quick

whiff, I became him again. Addicted.

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