Top Notes 
Blackcurrant
Coriander seed
Heart Notes 
Saffron
Rose
Iris
Base Notes 
Oud
Patchouli
Musk
Vanilla
Puderperle
55 Reviews
Translated · Show original
Puderperle
Top Review
19
Untouched Touches
I can vividly remember the moment I first encountered you. As if it were just yesterday. You were introduced to us as the new colleague. I was not prepared for it. A new person is coming, sure, but not for the effect you had on me.
All the impressions came rushing at you in the following days, so many names and workflows. The whole hustle and bustle was a good disguise for me. So it remained hidden from you that I was watching you. Completely unashamed.
You could never remember my name, I told you five times. Every time we had brief interactions. I never held it against you. You are far too charming for that. Besides, you have little dimples in your cheeks when you get embarrassed. So feel free to ask me a thousand times for my name. I will never tire of telling you.
I catch myself creating reasons to be near you.
Every eye contact with your blackcurrant eyes makes my heart skip a beat for a moment, and your smile directed at me moves mountains. Or makes coriander seeds rain. Yes, strange things happen in your presence.
Your strength. It is immense. You enter the room and fill every corner with a presence that sends robbers fleeing. Probably because you are carved from oud wood.
You once mentioned that winter is your time. That is clearly the case. Your cheeks have never been rosier. Knitted sweaters with bold saffron threads keep you warm and give the surroundings a pleasant sillage. You defy every cold, melting icebergs. Is it due to the oriental touch? The fire of the desert burns within you.
Unfortunately, your name was not on my Secret Santa list. God did not hear my prayer. You politely smiled away the old snowman-scented candle to spare Günther's feelings.
I, on the other hand, would have given you the world. Or a horse, so we wouldn't have to steal one first. That way we would save time and could just run away. You probably wouldn't care about stars; you are too tough. You would pluck them from the sky yourself. Without a ladder. You don't need a man for that.
The scent of your hair hypnotizes me even from a distance. I wonder what it must feel like? No. I am a man of decency and respect. I won't touch you. Except… there are no limits to thoughts. And in my imagination, I slowly come two steps closer, smelling your hair… so delicately, musk and vanilla…
“Is everything okay?”
Caught off guard, I turn red, not daring to look you in the eyes. Did I stare? Did you take away my stammered excuse about looking for the stapler? It probably wouldn’t have been stuck in your hair.
No. I am not a stalker. I will never be one. Allow me to express my sincere admiration for the beauty of your character. For the way your open laughter captivates. And allow me the compliment that you have probably never heard: Your brain is sexy.
The combination of intelligence and healthy self-confidence makes it.
You can be sweet if you want. But you prefer to leave the job to other colleagues. A strong businesswoman who feels comfortable in a burgundy evening dress, that is more you. Still, you do not act brutally but maintain your femininity with the rose in hand. Patchouli quietly grounds you in the background.
By the way, I think leather jackets would suit you very well.
You are my insider tip. Would I tell my friends about you? For heaven's sake, never. They would permanently block my view of you with their curious heads. Too much publicity is not beneficial for character. Imagine if everyone started looking for the stapler!
Am I weird if I say I look forward to every Monday morning and already mourn on Friday? Every day with you is a precious gift, yes, I am not exaggerating. Knowing you are near me is pure bliss.
Should I send the letter to you? Heaven no. Although - then you would surely remember my name. But no. I choose against it and prefer to remain your secret, most loyal admirer. To me, you are the true icon. You make it hard not to love you.
P.S. The red Monday rose on your keyboard is from me.
Etienne A.
(Thank you, C., for the most beautiful compliment from you that I have ever received. You were my inspiration.)
All the impressions came rushing at you in the following days, so many names and workflows. The whole hustle and bustle was a good disguise for me. So it remained hidden from you that I was watching you. Completely unashamed.
You could never remember my name, I told you five times. Every time we had brief interactions. I never held it against you. You are far too charming for that. Besides, you have little dimples in your cheeks when you get embarrassed. So feel free to ask me a thousand times for my name. I will never tire of telling you.
I catch myself creating reasons to be near you.
Every eye contact with your blackcurrant eyes makes my heart skip a beat for a moment, and your smile directed at me moves mountains. Or makes coriander seeds rain. Yes, strange things happen in your presence.
Your strength. It is immense. You enter the room and fill every corner with a presence that sends robbers fleeing. Probably because you are carved from oud wood.
You once mentioned that winter is your time. That is clearly the case. Your cheeks have never been rosier. Knitted sweaters with bold saffron threads keep you warm and give the surroundings a pleasant sillage. You defy every cold, melting icebergs. Is it due to the oriental touch? The fire of the desert burns within you.
Unfortunately, your name was not on my Secret Santa list. God did not hear my prayer. You politely smiled away the old snowman-scented candle to spare Günther's feelings.
I, on the other hand, would have given you the world. Or a horse, so we wouldn't have to steal one first. That way we would save time and could just run away. You probably wouldn't care about stars; you are too tough. You would pluck them from the sky yourself. Without a ladder. You don't need a man for that.
The scent of your hair hypnotizes me even from a distance. I wonder what it must feel like? No. I am a man of decency and respect. I won't touch you. Except… there are no limits to thoughts. And in my imagination, I slowly come two steps closer, smelling your hair… so delicately, musk and vanilla…
“Is everything okay?”
Caught off guard, I turn red, not daring to look you in the eyes. Did I stare? Did you take away my stammered excuse about looking for the stapler? It probably wouldn’t have been stuck in your hair.
No. I am not a stalker. I will never be one. Allow me to express my sincere admiration for the beauty of your character. For the way your open laughter captivates. And allow me the compliment that you have probably never heard: Your brain is sexy.
The combination of intelligence and healthy self-confidence makes it.
You can be sweet if you want. But you prefer to leave the job to other colleagues. A strong businesswoman who feels comfortable in a burgundy evening dress, that is more you. Still, you do not act brutally but maintain your femininity with the rose in hand. Patchouli quietly grounds you in the background.
By the way, I think leather jackets would suit you very well.
You are my insider tip. Would I tell my friends about you? For heaven's sake, never. They would permanently block my view of you with their curious heads. Too much publicity is not beneficial for character. Imagine if everyone started looking for the stapler!
Am I weird if I say I look forward to every Monday morning and already mourn on Friday? Every day with you is a precious gift, yes, I am not exaggerating. Knowing you are near me is pure bliss.
Should I send the letter to you? Heaven no. Although - then you would surely remember my name. But no. I choose against it and prefer to remain your secret, most loyal admirer. To me, you are the true icon. You make it hard not to love you.
P.S. The red Monday rose on your keyboard is from me.
Etienne A.
(Thank you, C., for the most beautiful compliment from you that I have ever received. You were my inspiration.)
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