Rosa centifolia CO2
Ambroxan
Bulgarian rose absolute
Coconut milk
Peach
Cinnamon
Ginger
Patchouli
Blackcurrant
French lily-of-the-valley05/01/2025
Gyokuro2021
6 Reviews
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Gyokuro2021
Helpful Review
21
The day awoke in their scent
She had gone, quietly, like the morning sometimes comes: without you really noticing it. Only the light was there. And the scent.
It still lingered in the room, like a last look back. A fine veil, hard to grasp. Not loud, not made. More like something that belonged to her. Maybe it was eLVes. Maybe just the way she leaves without disappearing.
There's a hint of azure in it. Not the bright blue of the postcards, but the soft blue of the fishing boats in the light of departure, when the sky is still pearlescent and the facades of the old houses glow in a delicate peach hue. There is salt in the air, but also a whisper of wild rosemary and olive oil that has just been pressed. Ambroxan, I think, captures that still sea.
A hint of gold: the bright wax tone of ginger, like a ray of sunshine across the skin, while petanque balls glisten in the winding alleyways and bougainvillea in deep magenta entwines over quarry stone walls.
Then a delicate apricot, soft cassis that doesn't seem fruity, but like a shadow of her shoulders as she holds another croissant in her hands in the café on the corner, unrecognized and unimpressed.
And in between: a fleeting white. Flowers, only hinted at. Centifolia, perhaps. Lily of the valley. More a glimmer than a scent. Like their laughter, lost in a side alley while the fishermen are already mending their nets.
In the echo, everything becomes warmer. Sand-colored, or like the matte brown of a faded, sun-warmed linen fabric; a hint of coconut, cinnamon, patchouli. Very soft, almost like the feeling of skin when it is no longer there.
And the name? eLVes. You could miss it. Or stumble over it. Maybe it means nothing, maybe everything. A word like a flicker. Like the silhouette of a promise in the backlight.
And me? I am left with this fragrance, which is not really a fragrance. More like a memory. Or a sentence that only she can finish ..
It still lingered in the room, like a last look back. A fine veil, hard to grasp. Not loud, not made. More like something that belonged to her. Maybe it was eLVes. Maybe just the way she leaves without disappearing.
There's a hint of azure in it. Not the bright blue of the postcards, but the soft blue of the fishing boats in the light of departure, when the sky is still pearlescent and the facades of the old houses glow in a delicate peach hue. There is salt in the air, but also a whisper of wild rosemary and olive oil that has just been pressed. Ambroxan, I think, captures that still sea.
A hint of gold: the bright wax tone of ginger, like a ray of sunshine across the skin, while petanque balls glisten in the winding alleyways and bougainvillea in deep magenta entwines over quarry stone walls.
Then a delicate apricot, soft cassis that doesn't seem fruity, but like a shadow of her shoulders as she holds another croissant in her hands in the café on the corner, unrecognized and unimpressed.
And in between: a fleeting white. Flowers, only hinted at. Centifolia, perhaps. Lily of the valley. More a glimmer than a scent. Like their laughter, lost in a side alley while the fishermen are already mending their nets.
In the echo, everything becomes warmer. Sand-colored, or like the matte brown of a faded, sun-warmed linen fabric; a hint of coconut, cinnamon, patchouli. Very soft, almost like the feeling of skin when it is no longer there.
And the name? eLVes. You could miss it. Or stumble over it. Maybe it means nothing, maybe everything. A word like a flicker. Like the silhouette of a promise in the backlight.
And me? I am left with this fragrance, which is not really a fragrance. More like a memory. Or a sentence that only she can finish ..
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