Sometimes it seems to me that all the most important things cannot be stored in drawers or boxes. They can only be carried with you - inside or on you. For example, scents. Someone will say that perfume is just a bottle on a shelf, but I never thought so. For me, it is a bottle with moments, people, places and what I am most afraid to forget. 💭

Yesterday I was sorting out an old shelf. It had been gathering dust closed for so long that I almost forgot what was there. Among the books 📚, dried tickets and crumpled letters, I found a small bottle. Dusty, but whole. I opened the lid — and here it is, last September. A mixed scent of wet leaves 🍂, strong black tea 🫖 and someone else's scarf. It's strange how one movement of the fingers brings back not just a picture, but a whole evening, a full street, the rustle of a coat and breath under the collar.

I know that smells can take us back to where we feel good. Sometimes — to where we don't need to. It happens like this: you're walking down the street, and suddenly someone's fleeting scent interrupts your thoughts and pauses the day. You stop and look for the one who was just there. Or you look inside yourself, where you've already felt it. I always believe that a woman has a scent for the rain 🌧️, a scent for someone else's sheets, a scent for coffee and even a scent that you can't wear in public.

My most personal scent is vanilla with a subtle lavender hue. I don't buy it in stores. I make it myself. Sometimes I want to be quiet and sweet, to hide in my own arms. For this, I have a jar of homemade bath salts. It's simple: coarse sea salt, a few drops of vanilla, a few drops of lavender, a little jojoba oil. I keep this salt in the closet and take it out when I'm tired of wearing other people's looks and words. 🧂

I like to think that a scent can be an invisible letter. You leave the house - and leave it in the elevator, in a taxi, in someone's scarf, on someone's coat. Even if no one asks, no one remembers - the smell will remain. I once read that our body remembers touches better than words. But I will add - and smells too. ✉️

I like to discover new smells as much as new pages of other people's books. Sometimes I take a bottle that does not suit me, just to remember - this smell is not mine. It doesn't settle on the neck, doesn't linger in the crook of the elbow, doesn't tease the hair. But I know for sure: somewhere there is someone for whom it suits perfectly. And I am happy when I find mine. 🌿

Recently I caught myself looking for fragrances more and more often not on store shelves, but in the kitchen or in the garden. The smell of warm bread with cinnamon 🍞, the smell of mint tea, the smell of fresh lemon 🍋. And also - the smell of skin after a hot bath. It seems to me that this is the most honest scent - skin without anything. The one that cannot be faked.

My friend once asked: if you could leave only one trace of yourself, what would it be - a word, a look or a smell? I did not answer right away. A word can be forgotten, a look can be erased. And a smell? It will be absorbed into hair, into a pillow, into someone's shirt. It will live even when no one remembers your name. 💫

I think we all need to keep little bottles of our memories. Not necessarily expensive perfume. Let it be mint in your coat pocket or dry lavender in the closet. The smell of childhood, the smell of your first adult night, the smell of morning coffee that someone prepared for you quietly so as not to wake you up. All this is the most valuable. 💝

When I feel lost, I open a jar of salt, put my palm down, scoop up a little bit and inhale. And this tiny moment is enough for me to return to myself. Sometimes simple salt with a drop of essential oil saves more than long conversations. Maybe someone else will find this useful - I share the recipe the way you share a piece of your favorite pie. 🥧

My mother always said: "Smell is your shadow. Make sure it is beautiful." I try, Mom. Even if no one sees it. 👃