At a certain point, you smell your favorite smell for the last time.
And maybe you don't even realize you miss that smell, or realize it's gone.
But it is.
It's gone.
And then there's nothing you wouldn't do to go back and smell it one more time, this time trying to appreciate it.
To be in the passenger seat again.
Doubt on the way to the barn.
Golf putters.
And love.
Lots and lots of love.
Love you've never experienced before.
Errands from mission control inside the front door.
New smells come to replace it.
And you like them too.
But they're not the same smell.
They'll never be the same smell.
Nothing else ever will be.
You wonder if you'll ever smell your favorite favorite smell, the one you like even more than your favorite smell.
I hope so.
To never know when something will be the last time.
Experience a smile.
The particular smile.
Eyelashes from the gaze held upward.
I try to do it whenever I leave.
Make the last kiss the best one.
Just in case.
To have something to remember it by.
A representation of the whole.
Maybe it's wrong to try to make a smell emulate the same feelings another smell brings forth.
Maybe I just need to accept it's gone.
Maybe I just need to appreciate the new smells for what they are.
Even if they're not similarly evocative.
Maybe it's to make new favorite smells.
