# The Untouchable Scent What is this fragrance that arrives without warning, uninvited— a phantom that slips past the senses, refusing to be held? I reach for it like a child grasping at smoke. It dissolves before my fingers close, leaves only the memory of wanting. Is it jasmine from another season? Sandalwood from a temple I've forgotten? Or the breath of someone who passed through my life like wind through an open window— present, then gone, but never entirely absent from the air? It haunts the margins of rooms, lingers in the folds of old cloth, rises from soil after rain. I cannot name it. I cannot hold it. I cannot even swear it was ever there— and yet it remains, the most certain thing about me: this scent I cannot touch, this smell I cannot speak, this fragrance that knows me better than I know myself.

You only look at me awhile with wet eyes. When you wanted to make this body's wound somewhat your own—I couldn't refuse; you were so much of me.

The day you left for the land of no return—I cried out loud that day, piercing and raw. My face twisted with that keen sorrow you didn't even turn to see. What rush was driving you so?

That's when I understood: in this world, no one is ever chained by love's bonds. Why couldn't I follow you then? Am I so steeped in sin?

A nightmare—it stole our beautiful moments with such cunning stealth. How are you? You had so much to say, yet you cut off all word and line, threatened me with silence, swore you could never leave me—and always, always came back!

I thought, where else would you go? What place was there for you to go to?—I had to prove myself a liar? Now you've truly severed the thread? Now you rest easy?

I no longer hold love close to my chest, I don't touch beauty, I don't watch anyone's performance whole. These days it's the scent of your hair that keeps me awake.

You yourself said you'd write every day—because the contract was unwritten, did you feel free to leave no trace behind? How can you be so offended? Tell me?

I'm making you a promise—I won't hurt you anymore, won't make you cry. I've never seen such tenderness in anyone's eyes for me as I see in yours...You know, half my diary still, every day, I fill with thoughts of you.