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.

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.

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.

2 minutes read | 2 hours work

Imagine the following situation, you go beautifully dressed to a date, you sit in a romantic restaurant with dimmed light, when suddenly… I have to tell you something. I met someone else. And the eyeshadows are gone. What a tragedy. A waterfall of tears. The eyeshadow is everywhere. On your cheeks, dress, and even that starched white tablecloth in that awfully romantic restaurant. Therefore, I recommend Phyto Eye Twist for every occasion. Waterproof eyeshadows are simply a certainty.

2 minutes read | 4 hours work

and she placed a white satin bag of lavender in the hallway,
 
so it will be the first thing her guests smelled at the first step in her rented apartment. If her home is to scent nice, if it is to scent pleasant, if it is to welcome people, then let Madamoiselle Lavender welcome the guests, she thought, waiting for the first knock.
 
She waited until evening, day and night, countless days and nights, until her soul was

old.

2 minute read | 3 hours work

She took a deep breath, as if it were the last time. And forever. As if she wanted to remember it. That moment, all that belongs to the moment and the moment itself. That place. That address. That house. And if there were tears of happiness, they still flood today. If there were flowers, they still scents in her office. And while some have withered and the leaves have fallen from the flowers on the table, it doesn’t matter. They’re just waiting for them to be tidy. If she wanted to… If there was a clock, it ticked quietly on her pale hand and only showed her insignificant time. If there was a dress, it swinged as she walked. If there were shoes, they said come and she went. Through the street, the forest, the meadow, the landscape, the morning, the day, the evening and the night, along the Milky Way, on the planet X178459 and they led it even further. If there was a scent, it would be scented like a road. It was a long journey and lasted up to one endless breath.

2 minute read | 2 hours work

I saw a woman. She had grey, thinner hair, tangled in a weak braid, tied with an elastic band, the kind you would find in your sweatpants. Maybe. With the only comb she had, she made a kind of knot and fastened the hair on her head. Every day. It wasn’t a majestic mane, she didn’t spin her hair into curls, she didn’t dye her hair. Never.