Scent doesn't ask permission — it just takes you. Why we blend for the memory, not the first impression.
Last week, on the train. Someone walked past and I was gone. Not on the train anymore. I was in my ex's flat, late summer, windows open. Eight years collapsed in a second, and the funny thing is I never chose to go back.
Scent doesn't ask permission.
It just takes you.
Here's the part worth sitting with. To someone, you're the stranger. Whatever you put on this morning is what takes them back in ten years. Or it's nothing, and you pass through unremembered. That's the whole choice. Wear something worth returning to.