The Scent of Regret

Dear Delyara, I saw someone wearing your favorite perfume in the subway today. For a split second, I almost called out your name, forgetting that we haven’t spoken in four years. I spent the rest of the train ride wondering if you still live in the same apartment or if you finally moved to the coast like you always dreamed. I have so many things I want to tell you—about my new job, about how I finally quit smoking—but I know the silence between us is a wall I built myself. I’m just writing this here because the weight of 'what if' is becoming too heavy to carry through another night.