Sometimes, the air smells of you when I unlock our mahogany dust-coated chest Captured whiffs from the past that never seem to dissolve like the feeling of an intimate kiss on damp, bare skin. Once, I wipe the dust off, staining my hands with hints of dried tears and fallen petals of bleeding hearts the lock slips off, and I peer in the kaleidoscope of this still world, the fresh scent of pine trees will escape, but they remain trapped inside where the wind brushes and leaves and comes back. Locks of laughter emerge, hushed whispers under warm sheets in darkness, save for the glow of untouched, locked phone screens.…