The Message From My Son That Forced An Impossible Choice – The Archivist

I couldn’t smell the nuances anymore. Couldn’t distinguish the jasmine from the gardenia, couldn’t detect the amber base note, couldn’t sense when something was perfectly balanced.

Everything smelled muted. Distant. Like I was experiencing scent through a thick wall.

I hid it at first. Made excuses. Blamed the quality of the raw materials. Blamed my continue reading …