Belle. Amour.

May 07, 2014


It's beautiful how memories can be triggered simply by olfaction. How
the brain specifically stores all these smell to memory somewhere along the lobes, the 
valley and trenches, along the cortex of the pisiform. A bulb that switches on as that
of a light bulb when a single whiff passes by the cavity, the tendons, the cartilages
of your nose. 
I know this smell that is so familiar to me that when I do smell it, it brings me back
to a time when I was no more than 18 years old, still in high school, among all
those lockers and double-decker beds, waiting impatiently for the weekends, just
so I can see my parents and threaten to never
let them go. 

How there was this one time when I couldn't wear a certain deodorant around my brother because
I knew it would bring him memories of a girl that he loved like he'd never love before. His every cell,
pints of blood and all his soul emitting the same love for her whilst she
took it all for granted. Giving him a quarter of hers when he gave her all of his. How did I know? He simply
told me. 
-That's the deodorant that she uses. Get that, it smells good. 
-
That's how I knew he was a goner. Wanting to smell the fragrance of a lover as a constant.
That was love. 

And also how you associate a certain smell to someone. My mother wears this one perfume all the time.
She has so many but she still
uses the same one every time that for me, that was her smell. To a point of
sheer stubbornness that when I smell that same smell on someone else,
to me it was still my mother. That's my mother. 
-So what do you remember most about your mother?
-J'Adore. My mother smelled of J'Adore. 
-
-
Now isn't that beautiful. 

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