A whiff is all it takes. Not a fraction more and she was there. Back where she never wanted to go again. For the same reason you hate looking at plastic chocolates when you are hungry.
Begging the memory to last a moment more...begging the aroma to linger a fragment more. Long enough to take it all in. But it never does, does it?
What exasperated Albert and led him to a point of no hope, the Olefactory senses did. Time travel.
The stinging aroma of a Clove flavoured facewash.
The smell of the water there, as she splashed it on her face..erasing the signs of a late night.
The bathroom and its memory of the disinfectant.
White bedsheets. The smell of them. The smell of them when she hid underneath. They were never meant to smell so good...
The artificial room freshener, and it stirs a brilliant image.
The curtains long out of use. Unmoved, dusty, memorable.
Damp towels and they smell of him. They were never meant to smell so good...
And a jolt from the dream. Lather on my hands. Of the Clove flavoured facewash.