The smell of strawberries spun with sugar wafts over my nostrils and suddenly, I am in primary school, staring up at the hot sun and taking swimming lessons every Wednesday. Running as fast as you can to be the first one to poke the bleeding tree, in the nature area that is slowly dwindling.
Fast forward to a place that smells of age and wine, being pushed to the ground by a baseball glove, being smacked in the face with your own hand. Dreading the fear that you know others will smell. Others will prey on it. Feed on it.
Into a state where the sun never stops shining and the rain is an uncommon occurance. The blackcurrants infiltrate my nostrils and my tongue, awakening my senses to put away the repetitions of the endless summer, the short skirts, the beeping cars. The slandering profanities..
To a slum of red wine, swimming in my head, deep, deep nights filled with sorrow. Tears and sunken eyes. Trawling the computer for material that will distract my thoughts. Waking in a haze, resting in a daze. I slip through my days like an unknown ghost.
To euphoria touched with melancholy, a smell of sweetness that ends with notes of harshness and anger. The darkest, darkest love, a love that could kill. A love that would shatter everything and destroy my life. A love that will stay with me forever. Yet, it does not smell bitter, it is still sweet, if stalely so.
