My Beloved Aromas

A short bit on my father and my love.

When my father would go out to sea, I would take one of his pillows to keep. Very softly, I would lay on my side, so my face would turn just enough towards his pillow. I would then smell the whispers of his essence that were left in scattered trails. Every so often, my face traveled across the pillow to find the desired spot. He always had this unmistakable smell he negligently carried throughout my childhood. It was "his" smell. And even though, I never had a real realationship with my father, somehow I had never had an encounter where a persons scent obliviously enticed me besides him. It was as if I so craved for his attention and praise, love and care. But he was gone.

And then there you were. Standing there at the door, oh so ravishingly. As if my father looked you in the eye, and said, "Son, I pass this position on to you." I sent my face landing into your chest, and you sheltered your arms around me. I breathed in. A scent arose at the absolutely perfect moment, with just the right amount to it. I fastened my eyes shut and stood soaking you in until I was drenched. The quiet playing of Claire de Luna rendered in my skull. Your aroma filled my nose and carried me to a place of intriguement. And when you leave, I take your pillow and very softly lay to my side, so my face turns just enough towards it. And then I smell the whispers of your essence that are left in scattered trails.

In only these two people, although both different,
And at an alternate time and place in my life from each other,
Did they carry such meaning inside themselves
throughout their gushing veins
Which beheld their enchanting scents of the ones I love

And I ached for you.
And now, I ache for you.

It is the one who first held me,
Who then gave the devoir to whom I have fallen in love with
That my heart is felt for,
In these two people, I find
The beginning
And the End.

And when you leave,

I take your pillow and very softly lay on my side so my face turns just enough towards it.

And then I smell the whispers of your essence that are left in scattered trails.

Reviews

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Loved this I wrote something of my dad today as well by the way Clair de lune my fav