Perfume

It didn't occur to me to close the door that Friday evening, as the rain poured heavily down the streets, the drops bouncing wildly off my pavement before settling down as if to caress the dust that kissed the floor. The earth bore that same aroma which is so oft spoken in a lover's tale, as I sat alone.

 

 

I turned to the next page of the latest classic, which by the looks of it was to remain unfinished like the pile that lay on the shelf, heavily loaded with the same promise of utopia, yet ending with the same dreaded despair of reality. I sighed, as the wet muddy water greeted my toes. I did not shrug it off, almost enjoying the murky cold water and its perfect smell.

 

 

The black patches on the mirror, rust I presumed as I tried to dress my reflection with the falling drops. I noticed the unkempt face that stared back at me, the prickly facial hair, the untidy wavy black strands flowing carelessly and the slight dark shadow that lay under those nicotine eyes. Numb hands brushed the fluff in an attempt to synchronize with the sound of the drops.

 

 

The door struggled back and forth as the water began to cascade heavily, and the woody fragrance that emitted from the ground rose to tickle my senses, and I longed for more as both the elements embraced. Absorbed in the moment, I almost did not notice her coming through, but for that fragrance. She spoke, my lenses stared at her lips and the mole that lay just casually above, as they moved and her words drowned in the rain. Her hazel eyes pointed towards my abode as she let her pouring frame rest on the only chair there, which slowly creaked. She let out her almond brown plait, as the water drizzled out.

 

 

The sticks burnt, and the flames warmed her pale hands while the ashes settled on the floor mixing with the muddy water. The smell was enchanting, her body ever so slightly let out that fragrance again, it lingered, as I tried to breathe it all in, my lids shut. 

 

 

Like the pouring rain now embracing twilight, and the charcoal melting the last remaining sticks, the aroma en-captured it all. It painted those pictures of utopia which I had read, of orchids and lilies thriving atop golden hills met by sparkling water-runs which raced through to the big blue sea. 

 

 

And I looked at the bottles of scented water that all lie opened, barely used, and then gazed towards her, the rain finally ceased, as I took in one last breath to savour it all before watching her walk, gently splashing a few drops which met my feet. I finally had it all.