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The Noir 29

When my grandfather died, I invited you to attend the funeral with me. You declined as was your usual style, saying you just wouldn't feel right there, by my side where I'd rather you be. You lacked the emotional depth it required to understand how much having you there with me would actually mean to me. 

So instead you let me wear your cream colored shirt and houndstooth tight pants, with some smooth black loafers. And for extra comfort, your cologne, Santal 33. These articles and scent were a poor replacement for you, but brought me comfort in my grief. They were the next best things to having you there with me.

Years later, I still wear the cologne you once gave me, The Noir 29. It still reminds me of you. When I miss you, I wear it, closing my eyes as I lift my shirt and inhale the scent that I wear near my heart, where you used to be.

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