this random guy came up to me and said “smell my arm”.
Looking back now, I realize that most people probably would have declined, or at least questioned such a demand. What an unusual thing to say to a stranger.
But, I didn’t hesitate for a second, suddenly I was sniffing the sweater sleeve of this person that I’d never met before, and looked up to see him laughing.
“Smells good, right?”
It did. Something of a mix between faded cologne, laundry detergent, and fresh air. It makes no sense, and sounds like a line from a Hallmark movie, but if cozy had a scent, that would be it.
—
Throughout the years to follow —(bit of a jump in the story, but sleeve-guy and I now shared laundry detergent, and furniture)—he would always reminisce about how we met, and use it as a way to make me laugh.
If I was having a bad day, he’d offer his arm for me to sniff. If I was being a little extra grumpy on occasion, his sleeve would appear in my face to magically change in my mood. The best ones were when he wrapped his arms all the way around me in a big smell-hug.
We were two sleeve-sniffing weirdos in love.
And, cozy.
—
Now, all I have left of him are bags of his sweaters—(another jump in the story, but I don’t like thinking about that part)—Sealed tight, so that I never lose that scent.
Every once in a while, I have to give in. I miss him in a way that no combination of words will ever be able to describe, and that familiar smell just brings everything back in a giant tidal wave of nostalgia.
It’s as if he just took the sweater off earlier that day—like he was still here.
But, each time I open up that sealed bag, a little more of the scent escapes. Until, one day, there will be no more smell.
No more sleeves left to sniff.
No more cozy.
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