Memory’s Perfume

Salty sea air.

As soon as the scent hits my nostrils, I’m jolted back to the days of high-pitched giggles, knotted sandy blonde hair, smooth skin like sun-kissed pebbles, drawn-out blush-evenings with whispering waves. Days with my daughter, just us, carefree. When she was young, when we were close. Where no troubles existed, where we never disagreed. Ice cream was a must for us both, even in January. A swim was a necessity, though not in January. Days with my daughter, just us, carefree.

Now, she’s grown, with a daughter of her own. And I’m grown, with a daughter miles from her home. Days with my husband, just us, careworn. Old and speckled, our hearing failing, our bodies creaking. Hospital appointments, prescriptions, mumbling and grumbling as though words no longer exist. Though, our love still remains, a constant in the inconstant. Days with my husband, just us, careworn.

Salty sea air.

I inhale the scent deep into my lungs, as though it’s medicine to my ageing body, and sink into the memories like they were only yesterday.

Writer. Faith walker. Notebook collector. Coffee drinker. Coffee Drinker. Coffee Drinker. Mother of two...and counting... @BathSpaUni MA CW grad.

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