A few days into the year and new lotions and potions are cracked open and applied to dry winter skin. And suddenly I no longer smell like me. I smell of a new me. A me who has wandered through exotic spaces and forbidden gardens, collecting spices on the soles of my feet and rare seeds in my hair.
And as my imagination races to the places my new skin might take me, memory drifts to the scent of moments left behind.
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