VanillaChai

Preliminary: I always associate fragrances with situations, people, times in my life, feelings, etc., so also this.
Kayali, interesting name, Huda's sister as head of the company, snazzy bottle and "Vanilla" in the name? Falls into my Beuteschema! So loosely distributed a few sprays on the coat. While I was now so strolling through the city, the fragrance was strangely familiar to me.
We were still small when we first met, together in a class. Have always argued with each other, until our parents were invited on a clarifying conversation. How ironic that we became friends after that. His father was from Cuba, parents later separated and we lost track of each other when it went to separate schools. At a party our paths crossed again after years, we talked all night. His father was back in Cuba, his mother remarried. We exchanged numbers, saw each other more and more often and were in constant contact, had many mutual friends. I was also often invited to his mother's for coffee, got along very well with her. He visited his father several times a year, and once brought me a bottle of perfume oil from a small Cuban drugstore. Without a label, without anything. A small glass bottle with a rollerball. He had smelled it on an acquaintance, he said, and the scent reminded him of me. "Warm, soft, inviting, like you.". For me, it was a mix of sweet, somewhat smoky vanilla and caramel. I liked the scent, but loved the associations I had with it. It was not expensive, yet so precious to me. The one I got it from was precious to me. We were inseparable. Until he went to visit his dad again and never came home. Not to me anymore. He broke off contact at that time, I found out later from his mother that he had met someone. Whether that was the reason, I had done something wrong, no idea. It took me a long time to learn that you can't force people to become part of your life if they don't want it themselves. I now live not far from his mother, we see each other often, greet and make small talk. He got married, to a good woman. I know where he lives, have his phone number, he vice versa the same. Still, it's almost like a silent bittersweet agreement that no one will get in touch. The possibility to change this at any time has let me make my peace with it. At the same time, I sometimes feel sad for myself that this special person has not found a bigger place in my life. Who knows the background or what it is good for. In the meantime I can't even remember the sound of his voice, but I can remember very well the feeling he gave me when we were together. How he looked into mine with his dark eyes and always seemed to see through me. No one has ever understood me like he did. For a long time he was my safe haven and I think I was his at the time.
I still have the old perfume oil bottle from him. It is empty. I can not dispose of it. Very slightly it still smells like what it used to be, Kayali's Vanilla 28 all the stronger for it.
How glad I was that I had found it. Shortly thereafter, it had a permanent place in my collection. I don't wear it often, but when I do, it always reminds me of the kind, handsome young man as he glares at me with his deep brown eyes and all that he has taught me. He's (m)a soul-flatterer, like my best friend.

#kitschigaberahr #sorrynotsorry

"She's a Bch!

I've smelled him before. Even if it was always the same type of woman who wore it.
Friendly, open-minded, reliable, determined, strong and somehow a little bit Everybody's Darling. But that doesn't mean that she has the need to be liked by everyone, but much more that she knows how to present her own point of view and that her environment accepts and appreciates her for that. In school days she was the class representative who knew how to mediate diplomatically, got along with all the small groups within the class and was sent ahead to convince the teachers with her charm of the community's intentions. She doesn't beat about the bush much, but does. She doesn't shine through self-dramatization, but through modesty and by putting her words into action. She doesn't need applause, a nod of appreciation and a smile are enough.
She has this warm, affectionate aura that surrounds her and in which one must feel comfortable.
The La Femme bottle has a similar design. Without much chichi, but in radiant gold, warm and timelessly beautiful.
At first I thought it was a mixture of care products and fabric softener etc. that made the women smell so good, because I just couldn't perceive this typical perfume scent. Like a kind of "My Skin But Better" fragrance. Not sprayed lapidary on top, but one with the wearer herself.
Until I finally discovered La Femme, when I was once again in the perfumery of trust. Without a specific destination, I stripped the shelves until my gaze fell on the solid, golden bottle a lot. I'd never really noticed it before, but when it was illuminated by the sun, it was simply beautiful. Prada, very classy, I thought. So sprayed on and there it was. That smell. Not toiletries, a perfume. Creamy, flowery, soft and somehow quite warm, like the first rays of the morning sun. The scent I had noticed so often but never asked for it because it was so natural.
Since then it has been the Go-To fragrance for me when I have a difficult day ahead of me or feel insecure. He doesn't steal the show from me, but picks me up, catches me, grabs me under the arms when I need it and puts me in scene when I want to score.
No matter if with t-shirt and jeans, or with the little black one with the high heels, I can always count on Prada La Femme.

Every now and then, when I let my eyes wander and he arrives at my scents, he rests on La Femme. I smile and nod at him appreciatively. He cannot be taken for granted, even if it seems so..