How the Scent of Time Introduced Itself To Me

The curtains moved. No wind. Only dust learning how to dance. I stood there... Breathing someone else's yesterday. The staircase carried cedarwood. The hallway tasted like old rain. A cup still waiting by the sink As if a hand had just let go. Nothing called my name. Nothing had to. The silence fit Like a coat I used to own. Every room keeps a pulse. Every stone keeps the weather. Some things disappear. Some things simply settle deeper. I knew that air before I knew myself. It lived between the walls and empty shelves. Not memory. Not desire. Not regret. Just the scent... The scent that time leaves behind. Sunlight gathered on cracked varnish. The floor replied beneath my feet. Even broken windows know How to keep a secret. The years were never gone. They hid in linen, smoke and paper. Waiting for one careless breath To become visible again. I stopped searching. The house searched me. One slow inhale... And everything returned. I knew that air before I knew myself. It crossed the dust like something else. No warning. No fire. No sound. Only the scent... The scent that time leaves behind. If every goodbye leaves no footprint... Why do abandoned rooms still breathe? Why does forgotten wood remember rain? Why did I recognize What I'd never met before? It found me long before I turned around. Hidden inside ordinary ground. Inside the grain. Inside the light. Inside the fading afternoon. I didn't chase the years away. I only breathed... And the scent of time Breathed back through me. Dust settled. The room stayed still. But when I opened the door... I carried the fragrance with me.