I read the Perfume novel by Patrick Suskind. It tells about a man searching for the best recipe to create a perfume that could spread love.
But that’s not the best perfume for me. It’s the smell of the rain — petrichor — that smells the best. Because it’s natural, and because it’s rare. Not every rain you get to smell a perfume so magical, so earthy.
The petrichor takes me back to when I was young, and carefree and not worrying anything about the future. Not having to worry that I would fail so deep I could commit suicide. No. It reminds me of the beautiful past I’ve been . . . including the wounds inflicted in my heart.