Diorissimo, the scent of love

They were a gift to her, five in total, small, in colored glass bottles. She opened each of them to inhale the other worldly aroma. She gave the green one to her best friend and kept the rest of them. Diorissimo is her favorite. It is elegant, classy, clean and slightly ricy, reminder of the mundane world lying beyond. The scent makes her feel like being in love. She brought it from the noisy and dusty city to San Jose, to the snowy lakes up north and from there to the coast mountains. She brought all four of them with her, using each on different occasions. But she was careful with Diorissimo, because of what it could kindle. She was afraid of its power, which would expose her to vulnerable feelings and passions. She would only wear it when there were other distractions, other things that could protect her from being led away, from being lost.

She can't remember when she lost the purple Poison. She can't remember when Diorissimo's cap disappeared. But she remembers the day when she finally decided to throw away the empty, much worn out, uncapped Diorissimo. The bottle had lost its shine, the scent was faint. She rubbed it one last time on her wrist.

She lost Diorissimo, the scent of love. But the ricy scent is forever in her heart on her mind. It is always there, kept in a secure place, to be released, when she is ready.