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Scented Symphony
Memory wears perfume before it wears language.
Symphony is too grand a word. It is one note repeated — jasmine, smoke, rain on hot pavement, the kitchen after someone left.
Scent arrives before argument. The body votes before the mind files its dissent.
You call it spiritual when it is chemistry with history attached.
Hecate keeps perfumes too — torch smoke, wet dog, the iron of keys.
Memory opens the bottle before you do.
JV · Dark Heart Labs