There are smells that stick to you stronger than touch. They don't require permission to stay. They are like ghosts - they appear suddenly, in transport, in an elevator, on the street. From a stranger whose shoulder was next to you for a second. And that's it - you are no longer here.
I noticed this when I was putting away a scarf that smelled of someone else's perfume. Feminine, tart. And everything inside stopped for a second.
No, it's not jealousy. It was a memory.
Once, as a child, I stole my mother's bottles and dreamed of growing up beautiful, wearing heels and spinning in someone's arms. Then there was a boy who smelled of mint and tobacco - he fell in love with everyone, but hugged only one.
And then there was the winter when I fell in love with the scent of orange peel, a wool sweater and coffee from a thermos - we drank it at the station, without leaving anywhere.
Now I wear my scents with caution. Not to attract, but to remain in someone's memory. Not shouting, not invading - just leaving a hint.
The smell on the pillow. The smell in the collar. The smell in the air after leaving.
Some stay forever. And even if everything is forgotten - this trace will remind you of you at the most unexpected second.