Selfie Olfactive Studio 2015

He steals the magic of sweetness, the stars dust blindly in the curry-colored sky, the ginger lies shriveled in the farthest corner of the greasy spice rack, moth threads swaying in the cinnamon jar. The incense is nothing but ash, the suede brittle, the last remnant of maple syrup too dry even for shortcrust pastry. The flowers intentionally dried and pressed, but accidentally crumbled. By the way: Every snowflake forms around a speck of dust. Dust flakes. Quietly the dust falls. A gnawed reindeer skeleton in the desert. The red nose still flickers weakly. Wow. Definitely crashed.
The Grinch has stolen everything that is juicy, rich, full of aroma, and radiant. He took away the tinsel from Christmas and left only the dry firewood behind (it used to sparkle more, didn’t it?).
Not for the Coca-Cola-Christmas-Express-Macy's-Parade-Ho-ho-ho faction.
Maybe more for the Bethlehem-stable-donkey-Mary-afterbirth-in-the-hay supporters. Really organic and all. But I’ve always had a bit of a problem with sandalwood.
Personally, I’d be happy for him to steal it, the Grinch.