Some things are better off inside my head because they are so overwhelmingly romantic, so beautiful, so raw that I’d rather have this reality distorted and fool myself again into believing that the idea of a man could perhaps be more convincing than the man himself. As romantic as it is for someone to receive a wooden box of incense, it becomes just as shattering to realise how thoughtless this gift was. Roses, Lavenders, Sandalwood, and jasmine. We progressed through them all, baby. With each meeting we trapped our roses and lavenders inside this antique box that also carries dry petals as a reminder of our relative notions of this romance. Artificial petals but petals after all. So for now, I’ll burn these incense sticks and cones, one each day to purge myself and my room of the smell you gave me. Because sometimes when you are trapped in a goodbye, no matter how beautiful the fragrance is, all that matters is that it burns.
- Excerpt from “The letters to people I have known ... and loved”