Remnant of a love

All that remains of us is that fragile phial of perfume at the top most corner of my chest; of drawers.

Well not so fragile I believe, lasted more than us. A tiny bottle of golden liquid packing away the golden sunsets from the chad, the never ending walks and the ever discovering talks.

Bottled away.

Sometimes I would open the drawer and the smell would overwhelm me and make my eyes smart in incensed pain. But hiding under mundane trivialities of life it is only a remnant of an unfinished love.