Scent Seeping from the Wardrobe's Gap

Late Frost Breeze Even left hanging, spring remembers the creases of that coat. Tonight I follow those creases. There's one coat that lets the scent of spring out first, every time I open the wardrobe. I don't suppose I'll ever take it out to wear again. Even with the door closed, that scent seeps out through the wardrobe's gap. Though the days go by without my wearing it, spring keeps finding its way back to that place. There were days I hung that coat by the window. When the wind passed through the sleeves, a season still young brushed past the two of us together. Does that wind still linger in the collar, I wonder. Even late at night, the wardrobe's gap holds the light of spring quietly in the dark. A door shut all winter opens on its own when spring comes. The coat only hangs there, and yet the season arrives first and strolls through its creases. When morning comes the wardrobe will go quiet again. Leaving only the scent, remembering only the creases.