perfume

The other day I caught a whiff of that perfume. It felt so familiar. So at-home. Nostalgic.

It bolted to my head immediately and I started looking all over for a lost face. Unstirring eyes set on me, taking me in. Untrained, untamed heart holding itself back. I felt watched. I felt lost in known territory.

My eyes darted in all directions, scouring the crowd. All I could see was a sea of nameless faces and all I could feel was the faceless scent in the air. And an urgency. It was getting fainter. I could not let it go. It had been years! I wanted to capture it. Fill it in a bottle that I can uncork, or in a stone that I can rub, or in a scarf that I can wrap around.

But it faded. Fast or slowly, I don’t remember. But it faded, leaving behind a teasing, lingering trace. And the memory of the first time I smelled that perfume.

The first time. It was loud, pungent, obnoxious. Why can’t people not wear perfume if they don’t know how to use it!

I didn’t know back then, that it would grow on me.