i keep thinking about this: maybe love isn’t a destination or a possession but an influence. a force that changes your shape. that helps you become. and when it’s gone, it doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. it means you’ve absorbed it. the people who leave don’t take it with them. they leave it behind in you.
love is about transforming. about leaving someone better than you found them, even if you had to leave. and i hope i’ve done that. i hope somewhere, someone is still listening to a song i showed them. still laughing at something i said. still drinking their coffee the way i do. we don’t belong to each other but we do belong to the versions of ourselves we became in each other’s presence and in that way, we never truly lose anyone.
i don’t think people understand how much of life is grief. not just people dying, but losing the version of yourself you thought you’d become. grieving the city you had to leave. the friends you lost not in argument, but in silence. the summer that will never come back. the feeling that maybe you peaked at 12 when you were reading books under the covers and believing in forever
propaganda i am not falling for:
- always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.
- beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines
- pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact
- beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art
- sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity
- treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins
my fave fall fragrances —
- ébène fumé - tom ford
a trace of smoke lingering in the air, like the scent of a house long since emptied of its people. it reminds you of the afternoons spent staring out of a window, watching the world turn amber, a slow-burning warmth in a cold room.
- vicious cacao - maison tahité
a taste left on the tongue, sharp and rich, like biting into the kind of chocolate that takes you back to a café on a street you’ll never walk again. it’s bittersweet. something you savor, even though you know it’s fleeting.
- spice must flow - etat libre d’orange
the smell of spices cuts through the air like a memory of something you can’t quite place. it feels like sitting in a room full of strangers, watching their lives unfold, wondering where they’ve been and how far you’ve yet to go.
- ambre eccentrico - giorgio armani
the light hits just right, and for a moment everything glows in a soft haze of amber. it’s the scent of a late afternoon, when the world feels golden, but you know the night is coming, and with it, a quiet kind of loneliness.
- private accord for her - hugo boss
the scent of coffee and something sweet, like a meeting that wasn’t meant to last. you wonder what it would have been like if you had stayed a little longer, lingered in the warmth of the conversation, let the scent of it stay with you.
- tobacco, oud & vanilla - aaron terence hughes
the smell of tobacco clings to ur clothes, the kind that feels nostalgic even though it never really belonged to you. it reminds you of watching someone from a distance, wanting to hold onto something you never truly had.
- east - akro
there’s a restlessness in this scent, a reminder of a place you’ve never been, yet you long for it. it’s the scent of leaving, of journeys not yet taken, of looking out at the horizon and feeling the pull of somewhere else.
- eyes closed - byredo
a moment of intimacy, so brief you wonder if it even happened. it’s soft, quiet, like the warmth of someone’s hand in yours for just a second before they pull away. a scent that feels like closeness you can’t quite touch.
- herod - parfums de marly
it’s the feeling of holding something delicate, knowing it won’t last. the tobacco is heavy, but there’s something underneath; soft, like the way a memory fades but never fully disappears. a sweetness that lingers in the silence.
- volutes eau de toilette - diptyque
the smell of smoke curls around you like a memory from long ago, a time when everything felt simpler. it’s the scent of things left behind, drifting in the air like something you can’t quite grasp, but feel with every breath.