The Smell of Vanilla and Woodsmoke

Dear Delyara, I found an old scarf at the bottom of the winter bin today. I pressed it to my face, and for a split second, I wasn't in my flat—I was back in that cabin in the woods, the fire crackling and the snow piled high against the door. The scent was still there, faint but unmistakable. It’s strange how a smell can be a time machine. I stood there for ten minutes, eyes closed, letting the memory of that winter wash over me. I’m not ready to wash the scarf yet. I think I’ll keep that version of you in the back of the closet for just a little while longer, even if it hurts to remember.