The memory of senses is something strange and funny. By closing my eyes I can go back to some specific memories that left their mark on my senses. I still remember vividly the grain of the skin of the first boy I held against me. Its unique warmth, the irregularities of his skin brushing against my fingers, the roughness of his lips while we were trying to imitate things still unknown to our minds but that our bodies craved.
Odors have their unique spaces. There are a lot of people from whom I memorized their unique smell. Sometimes I encounter those smells again and then spring back into my memory. I turn around, seeking them but odors aren't that reliable and most of the time they're not here. It's more than a perfume, each person or sometimes place carries its unique smell, filled with asperities and uniqueness.
I remember my grandfather's death, leaving his hospital bed and taking the train back home. When I stood up to exit the train, I was suddenly faced with his unique smell, coming from behind me. But when I turned around, hoping to find him against all odds, there was just an empty wagon. When I got into my mother's car, her first word was that he left us just after I was able to say goodbye to him.
I like to think that in this small window of time, it was him coming to say goodbye to me in this wagon, leaving me his perfume as a token of this farewell.direct link to