"For reasons you cannot explain, you find yourself ensnared by its scent: the smell of inhibition's demise. There is a twisted sense of satisfaction over this display of perverse revelry in an olfactory stimulus." - The Spiral Prince
It is said that a flower's fragrance informs the surrounding environment of its fertility, availability and desirability and that like visual perception, information is broken down into some primary or fundamental constituents, upon which sensation is built.
Yet, it is a single complex stimulus, that whenever its scent is inhaled, I am transported back to you and that night. I had gotten to the town proper and was dressed up with no plan. There in the dance hall, as the music was playing and the bodies swaying, was the call of the citric bergamot and pineapple and a hint of resinous cardamom.
As I closed my eyes to focus on the source of the mysterious scent, I inhaled and suddenly a floral bouquet of jasmine, violet and rose with a hint of nutmeg gave me a bearing on your location. And as I slowly moved across the floor, it was then that the musk and amber began to round out your scent. All along a subtle note of crisp, fresh fragrance bound the complexity together.
I opened my eyes fully and our souls went into limbic resonance. We left the dance hall to talk and walk back to my house. The slightest habagat wind would break the continuity of your scent to my sense but your scent would return in full force, in the same sequence of layers -- citrus, then floral, then a sweet musk. The unperiodic habagat breeze resetting my olfactory senses to the depth of your scent was like a fugue between you and me -- in the long walk.
As we left town, we were able to catch a ride back to my barrio and we walked to my house. My parents and siblings were asleep and so we went to the storehouse. In the dimly-lit night time, we undressed and submitted ourselves to the indulgence of our remaining senses of taste, touch and hearing. Yet, your scent would return in the most subtle whisper like the tonic key in a never ending fugue. Even as the temperature and moisture between us rose, your scent was steady and unwavering only succumbing to the intermittent power of the habagat wind on our naked skin.
When I awoke in the morning, you were gone. But I needed go no farther than my own shirt for your scent had left a trace, like a coda. The next week when I went to the town proper, I inquired from some acquaintances about you. Yet, my description of you failed to elicit recollection in anyone. I wondered if it was because, perhaps, you may have only existed in my mind, or maybe, perhaps, because I withheld any description of your scent -- my memory of you. I did not wash my shirt for a long time, greedily holding onto the fading physicality of your existence in my happy memories of that night. Citrus, then floral, then a sweet musk -- with that crisp and fresh hint of fragrance.
The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: Happiness and One of the Senses