I love simple scents: not too loud & aggressive. And if you’ve ever dated me or you’re close to me in some way, you know this.
My home smells like sage, a lavender & amber or vanilla/wood candle or simple-scented incense. I don’t stray away from these.
One, because my nose is sensitive to loud scents and actually cannot handle them. Two, I’ve various allergies and scents that are too loud or fruity or over-the-top make my eyes itch and water and I begin a sneezing fit that can last longer than it should. Lol.
I know I’m weird. And I am okay with this.
Oddly enough, the woman I am digging on for the last year and some change is the same way. However, she’s asthmatic, so she doesn’t wear loud-scented perfumes and her home is a welcoming space smelling of sage or her favorite candles and incense. Soft & luring. Not over-the-top.
If we ever become anything more, I’ll be safe in her space. And that’s a beautiful thought.
This poem is striking, and I felt it moving deep within me as I read it. Please visit the author’s site to read it in its entirety, and to like and comment directly there.
Peace and blessings!
Your written contentyour voicecopyblog poststexts, captionsthe way you capture feeling on the pagecontextualize thoughtempower us through emotionbreathe life into the human experienceremind us what it feels like to liveto rememberminister to our memoryand most sacred truthsthe way you poetyour words, spoken or written is, power. A historical document your grandchildrenwill one […]
Another day of love for lovers is here, and I am unbothered by the frenzy and unfulfilled purposed people struggling to find the best gifts for others they half love Monday through Thursday, and find themselves wanting to be rid of by Friday.
I smile. I smirk. I know where it all ends, and sadly, where it will begin again, and I say, “I don’t need Valentine’s Day to express my love for another — to let them know I truly care. If I love you, you know. I tell you. I show you.” And I get stares that seem to skitter about from the eyes and roll off to skim through my thoughts.
I said what I said. And I meant it.
My mother is the only person who can call me and say, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and I don’t flinch or cringe — she has done it for decades now. Ain’t no stopping her. The pressure that comes with this day is abhorrent. I have seen people take their last $50.00 to semi-splurge on things their loved one didn’t need.
And here we are, living during a time when four gallons of gas will probably cause you to get evicted. Do what you want with your money, I know what I will be doing with mine.
This day reappears yearly, and it’s the same charade setting itself up on bended knees to knock every participant down and out before they can utter half-hearted “I love yous.”
Commercialism at its finest.
And you’ll succumb. You’ll buy the roses. You’ll book the restaurant reservation. You’ll get the diamonds and pearls and toe the line of bankruptcy to fulfill an empty heart that only really needs you — that only really needs . . . love.
I’ll try not to put my foot too far in my mouth, because I am loving a woman who will one day have me running out to find the best thing suited for the whole of her — of who she is — Valentine’s Day, included among all others.
If it’ll draw that dimpled smile from her face for eleven seconds, I’d succumb, too. But for now, I don’t need Valentine’s Day. It can’t have what I have and won’t give me what I want — what I need.
I’ll sit back and watch and wonder how much longer we’ll dive into the moneymaking day of love that still manages to leave people depressed when the day is done.
We are knee-deep in its throes . . . bound to sink in its making faster than we ever could in quicksand.
A Cornered Gurl 
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