For the past few days I've walked through the old department store on Dade Blvd., because it smells exactly like your old house. I love it, that smell of perfume and age and glamour. It makes me think of you. Today my eyes stung with the tears that I can never cry when I should. Too bad you are dead. I wish you weren't.
I probably won't go into the store tomorrow. The whole situation is a little melodramatic. And crying in the middle of the cheap jewelry section would be odd, so it's best I lay it to rest.
I wish I knew what the smell was exactly.