Doslov Prechádzajúc okolo kaviarne Odeon som ťa hľadala Adelie. Aj teba som hľadala Felix. A chvíľu sa mi zdalo, že vás dvoch vidím, ako hovoríte o niečom slovami, ktorým nikto iný nerozumie, len vy sami – Poďme domov. Nech rýchlo niečo uvaríme, rýchlo zjeme a pomilujeme sa dlho, nech nemáme čas na umieranie. Prechádzajúc pomaly…
And the bin stood further down the sidewalk, a little blistered and sore, and just sadly greeted people good morning and wished them good night and bon apetit. The days passed one by one, days alternating with nights, now and then somebody emptied it over the morning, at a time when nobody was looking. After all… who would want to see such a bin being emptied. No one. And winter came, and spring came, and summer came, and with it the flowers.
Maybe it was year 1991. I was sitting in my childhood room, cross stitching a blue butterfly according to a simple pattern. Three crosses, two spaces, three crosses again. I was cross-stitching for dear life. The long thread shortened and from one cross became a butterfly. I embroidered on white canvas and knew nothing else, the threads were precious and every colour was saved.
There was no reply to my last text message. Never. Maybe too much wine is to blame. Maybe hunger and maybe cigarettes and maybe fear of the dark and maybe someone hurt her. Or it was lack of interest. Or solitude. Or unwillingness. Or selfishness. Or they. Or me. Maybe it was the winter. Hair falls from the palms to the ground and it is slowly getting colder outside…
The postman rings and whispers and looks around to make sure no one else is listening and says that today is the big D-Day when special packages are delivered especially for special people who deserve what’s in it and those packages smell very special, after roses and they are tied with a special transparent bow that only he and I can see and they say those packages have a special charm. That they will change my morning, my day and, if I want, my life.
To make the morning charging and preparation for the whole day perfect, Roger&Gallet also has perfumed waters in its fragrant collection. Rose is the most beautiful and freshest for me. It is not aggressive at all, but on the contrary very refreshing and pleasing to the senses. It smells of Damask rose and Italian mandarins and musk. I am very happy that it comes in 100 ml packaging, because I will enjoy it to the last drop.
Fantastic. The body cream has a beautiful, sweet scent. I can already see myself somewhere in the south of Europe drinking a virgin mojito with a good amount of ice in a tall glass with a straw, a swimsuit with a lemon print, a straw hat, wet hair underneath, and no problems. Had I not visited a place by the salty sea and warm sand until now, this product would have started an entire galaxy of wishes in me. Especially the sunny and seaside ones.
And the city goes with me. Over bridges, along sidewalks, around the lake, and takes me to the evening bar by tram. Where he will order me a cocktail that he says suits me best. Cosmopolitan. He sits me by the window and looks at me. This glint of the street lights in his eyes… We look at each other through the window. Me here and the city there. He does not go away. He is there with me. We are silent. Just like that. We look into each other’s faces and at that moment it was all that I wanted. That feeling. That tender silence. That love.
It’s so perfect, that it brings me to all sorts of thoughts, and to silent madness, and the worst thing is the feeling that I don’t even deserve it all and that it’s too much and flawless. I don’t know where I would find a mistake if I was looking for one. I do not have a time. I’m busy. I am doing nothing and thinking about nothing and ice cream melts on my tongue and I cry here and there, just like that and Mia saves me from total collapse from happiness. I laugh at times and cry at times, and I am seldom calm. If this is happiness, then come and see, because this is what it looks like and this is how it should look like.
2 minutes read | 3 hours work
The scent of Nuxe reve de miel is real. It really smells like a three-liter glass full of honey. Like the one that we had at home in the pantry once upon a time. When I was little, I remember it was a very heavy glass and it was necessary to handle it carefully. At that time, honey was gifted as a reward, or for help, for mowing the garden, for the journey to the city, or just like that, and it was straight from the real bees and the beekeeper. And there was no honey from shops with a price tag and a label. It was real, unadulterated honey. It was used to sweeten tea. A drop of lemon was added, and whoever wanted and was of legal drinking age added a drop of rum, pouring on bread and butter, slowly running from the bread to fingers and clinging to everything around. Honey was served together with Christmas wafers and slowly, over time, in the jar, it crystallized. We melted it in hot water and returned it to the form of liquid gold.