Smells and Memories

If you read Proust, of course you know about the cookie and immensing it in the tea, the taste in your mouth, what bring you closer to the time you were.

I guess I was wrong lately in saying that food and taste does not bring intimacy, it does, but not the one who makes it, necesarily, it is to the one who feels it, it is to your self. So ultimately, joy from food and taste is a lonely experience.

I digress.

What I meant to say is that, I have not been inspired to write anything lately, as I told a friend. My inspiration has dried up.

But tonight, while I was sitting in front of my laptop and was reading blogs, I felt I smelled something that is familiar, it is the smell of a candy store, at the street corner, in my hometown, when I was a little girl.

The small candy store where jars full of colorful candies seemed beyond reach. As if when I was little, stepping on the stone steps which were slippery because of time and usage, it led to a small space that is full of the warmth and sweetness of candies.

Sweetness is a simple taste, straight and no pretense.

Even I could not afford them, I could know that they were good, friendly, eager to please. For that is the only reason for a candy store to exist, to please.

A split second of smell that is sourceless, instantly brings me back in time and space to the place where I were, so maybe, just maybe, this universe is indeed just strings of energy, in this many forms, we never grow old, we never sepreate, we never forget, we never die, we just touch and untouch, in our floating.

I digress again.

The smell brings me so closer to the clean and well scrubbed cement floor of the candy store, where I looked down, see my worn out red shoes, I was dreaming of the candies, how they would taste in my mouth, how they would weigh in my small hands.

A little girl with big head and big eyes who loves that candy store, will now remember it only from a far, from never needing candy that deperately anymore, grown up.

Yet, soon enough, I was back in that little store again, all it takes, is a familiar smell, or a very soft spot in your heart, that I don't know it exist anymore.