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Tamara Catadas

The day I told you you smelled like graveyard flowers


Graphics by Justine Arriola


The day I told you you smelled like graveyard flowers started at


12:29


A cold noonday with the taste of your scent clinging to my lungs. That day, I woke up and drew your name from the thunderstorm that lulled me back to sleep. I dreamt of a home to build and flowers to grow. The dream smelled so much like you that I almost choked.


2:00


Waking up feels like hitting concrete. I’ve been sleeping terribly lately, if not for the pills I take. I feel restless sleeping alone in this bed. It feels so empty without you. Here’s to hoping that scrolling mindlessly through my phone will numb me enough to pass the time.


2:30


Have you ever smelled old books? Previous owners lovingly folded the dogears before handing them to me. Something about that’s nostalgic to me. The creases are beloved memories of all the verses we’ve ever held dear. Little things that make you feel loved, like tucking your hair behind your ear.


3:00


The summer heat could melt a man alive, let alone me. I think the sun envied you enough that it’s punishing me for loving you instead. The moon would’ve envied you too if not for the protection of your car. I think about how you would have suffered like me too if you had visited me today, but I’m glad you hid from the sun. It was one less thing to worry about.


4:45

I wear bells around my neck to remind myself I exist. In your presence, you kiss me on the forehead to remind me that I matter. I still can’t bring myself to brush my hair. Loneliness is debilitating sometimes, you know? Of course, you do. You know better than anyone.


6:30


I don’t remember falling asleep. It’s already dark and the wind is almost cold. I’ll hold you in my heart until I hear you call. It’s funny how easily we summon each other through rings.


7:15

You just got back from your walk a few minutes ago and told me you’ll shower real quick. You do not shower quickly, I know that, but I appreciate that you try. You don’t eat dinner anymore but you do eat crackers and drink milk then you tell me you’re still hungry. I thought about how you’d eat whatever is left on my plate whenever I don’t like the food, or couldn't eat any longer.


9:00


Would you still love me if I was a worm? You say yes and that you’d put me in a little terrarium so I could live the rest of my worm life comfortably. I like how, at an event where I’d no longer be myself, you think about my comfort and well-being. You ask me what I want to do, I say I can stream myself playing sims again. You like that idea, so we watch characters made in our likeness living comfortably like worms in a terrarium.


10:45


Watching video essays became our favorite pastime. I show you things you never entirely understood and you tell me all the bones you've ever loved.

Have you ever thought about how plushies are made to be loved? Made to be held and cherished? Have you ever thought about how our hands fit perfectly together? How we were made to be loved, held, and cherished? I have.


11:50


I tell you I cherish your sweater. I loved how it smelled like you. You ask me what you smell like. I say you smelled like white flowers that grew in a graveyard I used to visit every morning as a child. Like jasmine and old clothes. Sweet, sharp, and at home, like worms in a terrarium. You smell like being held. You smell like bedsheets and flowers.

And at the end of our day, I told you


12:00


You smelled like graveyard flowers.

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