I Remembered.
It came unexpectedly, a whiff on the wind, a familiar scent attached to an unfamiliar passerby, a reminder.
I inhaled, and I remembered what my mom smelled like.
She smelled like Ithaca (her mill). She smelled like cigarettes (her vice). She smelled like leather (her purse). She smelled like Pond’s cold cream (her routine). She smelled like Vanilla Fields (her perfume). She smelled like sweet tea (her other vice).
I remembered.
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