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08/08/2019
Palonera
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Palonera
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34
from the nose, from the mind
I don't know how long I've been trying - three weeks, four, five, six.
Again and again we met, "Boss Orange" and I, one test resulted in the other and left me more helpless.
I paused, put aside the scent, did not trust my nose and not my skin.
Until I had to realize at some point: It's not the nose, it's not the skin - it's simply that we're not made for each other, the scent and me, that the chemistry isn't right as it is with some people.
I'm sure it was a little bit the first time, too.
On the first test, on my impetuosity, which let me splash too carelessly - the sample had no sprayer, but a long rod, which was and is useful, but which remained unnoticed.
That took revenge with throat scratches, stomach pains, a band around my forehead.
That reminded me to be careful next time from now on.
That got better, I'm sure, but not much love.
No little flirting, no flirting.
She is already beautiful, the "Boss Orange", very (!) moderately dosed.
It is warm, sweet, a little scratchy, unfortunately, but that can be overcome.
And orange - yes, yes, yes, it's all coming from the colour.
Otherwise apple without sine, not fresh from the tree, not even from nature.
In the laboratory, it was rebuilt, trimmed to apple porridge, sweetened, without cinnamon.
A bit of wood in the background and around it, here and there a few flowers, sun-warmed skin, a touch of hairspray on top of that - that's not unpleasant at all, it doesn't even come to mind.
Late summer, early autumn, the sun is already low.
Terracotta, amber, a jar of honey gold.
We have tried the scent and I - again and again, still and still.
But love cannot be forced, not to man, not to fragrance.
Even if he scratches and swings his club too much, he doesn't make anything vibrate, hardly triggers feeling or desire.
Boss Orange" looks strangely flat on my skin, almost disembodied - no corners, no edges that lend contour, make it recognizable, unmistakable.
If I met him elsewhere, next week, next year, I wouldn't remember him - from the nose, from the mind.
And that's actually a shame.
Again and again we met, "Boss Orange" and I, one test resulted in the other and left me more helpless.
I paused, put aside the scent, did not trust my nose and not my skin.
Until I had to realize at some point: It's not the nose, it's not the skin - it's simply that we're not made for each other, the scent and me, that the chemistry isn't right as it is with some people.
I'm sure it was a little bit the first time, too.
On the first test, on my impetuosity, which let me splash too carelessly - the sample had no sprayer, but a long rod, which was and is useful, but which remained unnoticed.
That took revenge with throat scratches, stomach pains, a band around my forehead.
That reminded me to be careful next time from now on.
That got better, I'm sure, but not much love.
No little flirting, no flirting.
She is already beautiful, the "Boss Orange", very (!) moderately dosed.
It is warm, sweet, a little scratchy, unfortunately, but that can be overcome.
And orange - yes, yes, yes, it's all coming from the colour.
Otherwise apple without sine, not fresh from the tree, not even from nature.
In the laboratory, it was rebuilt, trimmed to apple porridge, sweetened, without cinnamon.
A bit of wood in the background and around it, here and there a few flowers, sun-warmed skin, a touch of hairspray on top of that - that's not unpleasant at all, it doesn't even come to mind.
Late summer, early autumn, the sun is already low.
Terracotta, amber, a jar of honey gold.
We have tried the scent and I - again and again, still and still.
But love cannot be forced, not to man, not to fragrance.
Even if he scratches and swings his club too much, he doesn't make anything vibrate, hardly triggers feeling or desire.
Boss Orange" looks strangely flat on my skin, almost disembodied - no corners, no edges that lend contour, make it recognizable, unmistakable.
If I met him elsewhere, next week, next year, I wouldn't remember him - from the nose, from the mind.
And that's actually a shame.
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