SCENT 09.

The perfume I just sprayed
is dripping down my wrist,
I leaned in and closed my eyes.
A long inhale.
A veil of scent flows through,
the combination of pepper notes with
woody and warm notes of cedar and vanilla
recreates the atmosphere of an ancestral library.
A faded memory of the library
in Oxford, England, 1997.

An open window,
The scent of a lazy morning.
The warm sun shines through the library
with tens of thousands of books
on wooden shelves.

The slowing down of time
between books and the whispers of turning pages.
A familiar signature on which time has no hold.
A day among the books
in a sumptuous library.

Pages turn,
In the discretion of whispers.
I smell the paper in the hardcover books,
stained in a vintage yellow,
and words that are slowly fading away,
telling a story that cannot be remembered.

I walk past the rows of bookshelves,
I smell the waxed and polished wood
of the antique tables and bookshelves.
They are not so perfect
with cracks and holes
and wax that is slightly moldy.

The spring breeze blows,
specks of dust are
dancing with the curtains and ghosts.
I tiptoe and follow them,
winding into a secret passageway.

A hidden, mysterious space.
Vanilla scented candles
lit by a wanderer a moment ago.
They are melting calmly,
dripping down onto teak wood tables,
leaking through the tiny cracks
and onto the floor.

The sweetness of the burnt vanilla candles
slowly evaporates into the air.
The warm smoke floods the passageway
and gradually fills the whole library,
merging with the woody scent.

I walk back to the mystic maze
full of books and shelves.
It is now overflowed with a soft vanilla scent.
The scent is subdued as the sun goes down.

The sunlight is saying goodbye,
the breeze is bringing away
the woody smoke and vanilla dreams.
I turned my head and looked around,
the library is quiet and empty.

I’m at peace,
enjoying the space all by myself,
absorbed with calmness and serenity.
The powderiness left by the vanilla candles,
the faint woody scent radiating from
the chipped bookshelves.
The waxy scent from the wax
peeling off at the corners of the tables.

I blinked my eye,
I’m back in my room again
but the trail of warmth hasn’t left me.
The scent of the whispers in the library is delicate,
close to my skin.
I want to be magically lost
and found in the library again.

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Scent 09.

Originally:
Whispers in the Library
Provenance and Period:
Oxford, 1997
Fragrance Description:
Paper and waxed wood,
Style Description:
Memory in a fragrance

An open window, The scent of a lazy morning. The warm sun shines through the library with tens of thousands of books on wooden shelves.

The slowing down of time between books and the whispers of turning pages. A familiar signature on which time has no hold. A day among the books in a sumptuous library.

Pages turn, In the discretion of whispers. I smell the paper in the hardcover books, stained in a vintage yellow, and words that are slowly fading away, telling a story that cannot be remembered.

I walk past the rows of bookshelves, I smell the waxed and polished wood of the antique tables and bookshelves. They are not so perfect with cracks and holes and wax that is slightly moldy.

The spring breeze blows, specks of dust are dancing with the curtains and ghosts. I tiptoe and follow them, winding into a secret passageway.

A hidden, mysterious space. Vanilla scented candles lit by a wanderer a moment ago. They are melting calmly, dripping down onto teak wood tables, leaking through the tiny cracks and onto the floor.

The sweetness of the burnt vanilla candles slowly evaporates into the air. The warm smoke floods the passageway and gradually fills the whole library, merging with the woody scent.

I walk back to the mystic maze full of books and shelves. It is now overflowed with a soft vanilla scent. The scent is subdued as the sun goes down.

The sunlight is saying goodbye, the breeze is bringing away the woody smoke and vanilla dreams. I turned my head and looked around, the library is quiet and empty.

I’m at peace, enjoying the space all by myself, absorbed with calmness and serenity. The powderiness left by the vanilla candles, the faint woody scent radiating from the chipped bookshelves. The waxy scent from the wax peeling off at the corners of the tables.

I blinked my eye, I’m back in my room again but the trail of warmth hasn’t left me. The scent of the whispers in the library is delicate, close to my skin. I want to be magically lost and found in the library again.