The Scent of a Woman

The scent of her, veiled by the jasmines she wore in her hair, lingered on him like a fading aura. So that her essence was simply more than her physical self, she became a part of the intangible universe of his, long after she was gone for the day, she was somehow still with him. She was in the very air, reminding, teasing him. Merely a scent but something more still, so whenever he would see her, his first instinct would be be to hold her and smell her hair once more. And, on many a nights he became drunk on her.

 

It was these little things he associated to love. For the life of him he could not answer if he, beyond any sense of reservation, was truly in love with her. All he knew was that he simply loved the scent of her and the longer she was away, the frailer her aroma grew, the more apprehensive he became, longing to be with her, for the scent to become stronger once more. To forever, for every moment he would spend on this plane, to have her intoxicate his senses, for her to become the air he breathe, and to fill his inside and remove all fear, all lingering sense of foreboding.To become a part of him in the most usual way and to remind him that some things beautiful still exist in a world that came sometime seem so devoid of beauty.