I never found her again–

Chasing the scent of her perfume,

caught in the breeze.

The footsteps that she had left behind,

immaterial traces of her.

Choosing to believe:

It’s her,

it has to be her,

lost in a trance of desolate mirage.

My body moves on instinct,

what’s left of her, no longer.

Living in a fool’s paradise,

perhaps there were no alternatives to begin with.

Self-deception was a startling prospect,

Still,

The cruel apprehension can be drowned out.

Please,

I rather suffocate in reverie–

It can’t be anyone else.