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Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
08/08/2021
MNGR
10 Reviews
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MNGR
Very helpful Review
30
In the face
Everyone knows those days when you literally can't help but remember. You start thinking about something, fantasizing back, and suddenly you're spellbound and captivated because of your own vita. This way of dealing with oneself quickly becomes reflexive, when one goes so far as to ask oneself, what if? What if I had been in that situation then, with my present mind? Perhaps there would be no remarkable differences at all. However, reading, listening, and especially smelling Dior Addict, I inevitably think myself back to 2010.
I was just 20 at the time and was doing my community service in the emergency department of a hospital. That was pretty exciting. The range of cases was enormous and I saw it as suitable preparation, for a possibly upcoming medical studies. My job was mainly to receive people from the ambulance, help them onto a stretcher, and push them into the treatment area. Of course, the newly arriving patients had to be entered into the hospital system so that documentation, diagnoses, etc. could be recorded. This job is not done by community service workers, but by experienced nurses. In my case, there was a particularly capable and exceptional woman. She was perhaps the same age as my mother and extremely attentive, sensitive, witty and empathetic. We completed many services together and always got into conversation at great length.
She has a daughter who was about my age and was doing a year abroad in Ireland at the time. So she was relatively far away. Looking back, I think I may have been a kind of communicative substitute for her child, who was contactable but somehow unreachable. She told me a lot about her and I was very happy to listen. She drew a picture that let me participate very authentically in her mother-daughter relationship. She shared with me not only the beautiful sides, but also problems, concerns, worries and fears. She also told me that her daughter cries a lot and is very unhappy. The host family probably did not accept her as she expected. This was sad and I felt very sorry. The situation in Ireland became more and more drastic, so that her daughter broke off the year abroad after two months and returned to Germany.
Probably her mother told her as much about me as she told me about her. And so one warm April day, she came to pick up her mother from duty at the hospital. I was there too, knowing she was coming and looking forward, probably very excited. I hadn't seen a picture of her before, but when she faced me, I had pictured her the same way. She was wearing a beige trench coat and looked very smart, embarrassed, sweet and somehow pure and beautiful. I was immediately on another level emotionally from that point on.
I knew from her mother's stories, however, that there was someone else who probably longed for her return more urgently than I did, her boyfriend.
I do not remember exactly on which day of the week we faced each other for the first time, but on the Saturday after that I was partying with friends in a club. And on the way to the bar she ran into me. We talked for what felt like an eternity until her friends wanted to go home. We exchanged numbers and texted half the night. We arranged to meet and if not on the first date, at least on the second, I kissed her. She returned the kiss and since then it has probably been one of, if not THE most memorable in my memory bank. Afterwards she said that unfortunately it would not go and I apologized.
After a short radio silence, we wrote again. I guess she couldn't do without me any more than I could do without her. We met again and kissed. I knew she had a boyfriend and everything seemed kind of hopeless, but we were so young and everything was so bittersweet. It was a beautiful summer. She returned every kiss and shortly after regretted it anew every time. My (unspoken) wish that she break up with her former partner, however, remained unfulfilled for a long time. Too long. We met again and again, until it was no longer possible. I could not it any more, if I wanted it nevertheless all the more strongly.
I wrote her a farewell letter, which I packed in a box, together with a new bottle of that fragrance, which she wore very often since our first meeting, Dior Addict. That was my farewell gift.
As the name of the fragrance already notes, I was also addicted to an addiction. One that catapults me to the highest heights in a frenzy, only to have me sink into the deepest blue of the sea moments later. It's a scent that revealed to me the full scope of loving in my early twenties. Every time I smelled it, I felt safe, although I knew that this feeling would be short-lived. He exuded dignity and calm where often there was only uncertainty and naivety. I associate with this fragrance a deep intimacy and closeness. A scent that, when I arrived home alone, was still in my nose for so long. I loved it and yet it deceived me and made me deeply sad. It is a fragrance that triggers the memory of beauty and vulnerability.
That "Queen of the Night" dominates the heart chord is as consequential as it is fatefully ironic. I do not know if in a mirror cabinet not far from me, still this one bottle may stand. If so, then I know that something will always remain. And somehow that is a beautiful thought.
I was just 20 at the time and was doing my community service in the emergency department of a hospital. That was pretty exciting. The range of cases was enormous and I saw it as suitable preparation, for a possibly upcoming medical studies. My job was mainly to receive people from the ambulance, help them onto a stretcher, and push them into the treatment area. Of course, the newly arriving patients had to be entered into the hospital system so that documentation, diagnoses, etc. could be recorded. This job is not done by community service workers, but by experienced nurses. In my case, there was a particularly capable and exceptional woman. She was perhaps the same age as my mother and extremely attentive, sensitive, witty and empathetic. We completed many services together and always got into conversation at great length.
She has a daughter who was about my age and was doing a year abroad in Ireland at the time. So she was relatively far away. Looking back, I think I may have been a kind of communicative substitute for her child, who was contactable but somehow unreachable. She told me a lot about her and I was very happy to listen. She drew a picture that let me participate very authentically in her mother-daughter relationship. She shared with me not only the beautiful sides, but also problems, concerns, worries and fears. She also told me that her daughter cries a lot and is very unhappy. The host family probably did not accept her as she expected. This was sad and I felt very sorry. The situation in Ireland became more and more drastic, so that her daughter broke off the year abroad after two months and returned to Germany.
Probably her mother told her as much about me as she told me about her. And so one warm April day, she came to pick up her mother from duty at the hospital. I was there too, knowing she was coming and looking forward, probably very excited. I hadn't seen a picture of her before, but when she faced me, I had pictured her the same way. She was wearing a beige trench coat and looked very smart, embarrassed, sweet and somehow pure and beautiful. I was immediately on another level emotionally from that point on.
I knew from her mother's stories, however, that there was someone else who probably longed for her return more urgently than I did, her boyfriend.
I do not remember exactly on which day of the week we faced each other for the first time, but on the Saturday after that I was partying with friends in a club. And on the way to the bar she ran into me. We talked for what felt like an eternity until her friends wanted to go home. We exchanged numbers and texted half the night. We arranged to meet and if not on the first date, at least on the second, I kissed her. She returned the kiss and since then it has probably been one of, if not THE most memorable in my memory bank. Afterwards she said that unfortunately it would not go and I apologized.
After a short radio silence, we wrote again. I guess she couldn't do without me any more than I could do without her. We met again and kissed. I knew she had a boyfriend and everything seemed kind of hopeless, but we were so young and everything was so bittersweet. It was a beautiful summer. She returned every kiss and shortly after regretted it anew every time. My (unspoken) wish that she break up with her former partner, however, remained unfulfilled for a long time. Too long. We met again and again, until it was no longer possible. I could not it any more, if I wanted it nevertheless all the more strongly.
I wrote her a farewell letter, which I packed in a box, together with a new bottle of that fragrance, which she wore very often since our first meeting, Dior Addict. That was my farewell gift.
As the name of the fragrance already notes, I was also addicted to an addiction. One that catapults me to the highest heights in a frenzy, only to have me sink into the deepest blue of the sea moments later. It's a scent that revealed to me the full scope of loving in my early twenties. Every time I smelled it, I felt safe, although I knew that this feeling would be short-lived. He exuded dignity and calm where often there was only uncertainty and naivety. I associate with this fragrance a deep intimacy and closeness. A scent that, when I arrived home alone, was still in my nose for so long. I loved it and yet it deceived me and made me deeply sad. It is a fragrance that triggers the memory of beauty and vulnerability.
That "Queen of the Night" dominates the heart chord is as consequential as it is fatefully ironic. I do not know if in a mirror cabinet not far from me, still this one bottle may stand. If so, then I know that something will always remain. And somehow that is a beautiful thought.
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Ka3n
