A Familiar Scent

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She sat staring at what used to be hers: dinners in exotic towns with exotic strangers, pools of jewellery that now meant emptiness, and wild, blue-haired poses of her in crowds. She loved crowds.

There was safety in that chaotic mix of voices and bodies.

She’d been woken up from sleep by the party next door. And as people stumbled out drunk and near-alive, she stuffed her ears with cotton wool. To muffle the easy laughter, the soft thuds as people made out in the sand. How extraordinary.

On her way to work by 8, she cried on the bus. It amused her. The indifference. Or whatever it was that made people who minutes ago had fake-smiled greetings in oddly happy voices stare  ridiculously at their phones as she sniffed. Hey the world stings everyone. So she made it her comfort. The kind that isn’t forced, isn’t asked for. Not always necessary. But still.

When someone touched her shoulders she wanted to say I’m none of your buisness please. Really it doesn’t matter.

But he reminded her of a large house with a fireplace. White walls. Servants. Coffee and soothing sun. Warm laughter on the roof. A baby.

A familiar scent. Must be all she wanted.

 

Photo credits: Tauro via Picsart.

 

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