A False Fragrance
From a distance
I watched you pick a flower
and smile as you took in its fragrance.
A tiny delicate light purple flower
that I recognized as lavender.
I hated lavender.
Yet I steeped myself in its floral fragrance
every single morning.
I perfumed myself not for me—
but for you.
Every morning I doused myself in lavender.
Its headache-inducing, penetrative scent
flooded my nostrils all the time.
Causing me to forget
my original odor.
Every night I took a long shower
to relieve myself of its painful potency.
You told me I smelled nice.
You picked me like a flower
and smiled as you took in my fragrance.
The same smile I used to watch from a distance.
But little did you know
the fragrance wasn’t mine to claim.
The day I ran out of perfume,
you walked right past me,
unable to recognize my lavender-less odor.
My head didn’t hurt anymore.
The air felt clearer.
And with that I refused to buy another bottle.