Fragrance of My Soul

by abc

Fragrance of my soul

He was my gentle brute, docile savage and my even tempered angry young man all rolled into one sexy package, my sweetheart. How I adored and idolized him, he was the ultimate alpha male, my heart throb. I was a teenager and he was my first crush, love and my soul mate.

Sweethearts love giving gifts to each other and we were no exceptions, he had given me a vial of imported perfume, "Attar". I loved the Attar. It was his first gift to me, on our very first date. We had innocently promised to get married to each other and live happily ever after. All this on our first date, I mean can anyone be any more naïve?

I used to apply the "Attar" only on the days I used to meet him, a measly once a month; I wore the attar and felt like a begum on those days, and how I miss our dates and the anticipation, exhilaration, the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and the increased heartbeats. I was so completely in love then. He loved my hair and would run his fingers through it, hide his face in my hair and kiss my neck, and whisper sweet nothings in my ears. I think I lived my entire life in those moments and have no regrets whatsoever.

To this day, whenever I get a whiff of a similarly scented perfume, my heart skips a beat. I stop in my tracks and am transported back to those love filled days and passion filled embraces. I associate Attar with the best days of my life and the bitter sweet memories they evoke cause my heart to skip a beat. I have forgotten the name of the perfume but remember the scent and have been searching for that elusive fragrance ever since.

Memory is a cruel mistress and a charming lover, it tantalizes and entices. One can easily lose oneself in its deceptive embrace, get lost in its myriad intricate mazes. Every perfumery I visit, I keep trying to get the whiff of my Attar, his Attar. I associate it with him and his love, his obsession with me and my hopeless devotion to him. I had been madly in love with him.

Being in love is a wonderful feeling and every little thing associated with it becomes a sweet memory and torment. Unrequited love is the most painful and cruel form of torture, when you love someone and they don't want anything to do with you, your heart breaks into a million pieces and can never be mended again. The fragrance of love remains an elusive scent which you keep searching for everyday of your life. It permeates every pore of your body and yet you keep looking for it everywhere you go. Why didn't he love you? Why did he change? Why did he stop caring for you? What was your fault? You only loved him more than life, was it a crime?