2nd April 2015

It smells. What you may ask. But I have no clear answer for that. But it smells. It smells like scrunched up wet clothes. Or like a pillow that has been used far too often. Maybe even like armpits after a normal days work. It’s not an unbearable smell but it is there. It lies there within the various odors and malodors. It cannot be seen, but the smell makes it seem green. It diffuses in all direction making its presence known, yet it is bearable. It lies there with the smell of roses from all the love, and the fragrance of perfumes from the confidence, even with the beautiful smell of skin from the talent. It is seen. It is known. Yet bearable.  People walk in smell the odours and walk away not sensing it. But for me who lives with it, it is known. Like an itch at the middle of my back. I feel it but cannot do anything about it. I twist and turn and rub on different surfaces. Approach others to help but they neither can smell it nor place where the itch is. So here I stand bearing the itch.