November grey was outside the windows - the sky was cloudy, the windows were richly beeped.
All day long he had been crying, the sky, had frozen my skin, my soul finally too.
Looking for a little warmth, for light and comfort I found soft wool, cuddly socks, quite unexpectedly finally also you: a small, flat bottle, untouched, filled, it seemed to me, with sun gold.
"L'Instant de Guerlain", 16 years old
It was the hottest summer in living memory, in the memory of a pigeon - never before, as far as I could remember, were values measured in the Ruhr area as those in the summer of 2003.
They left the 30 degree mark unimpressed, danced around the 40, turned the drop of sweat upside down and killed the air conditioning in the ICE that brought me to him, to him, the unknown and yet so close to me, to Berlin
We had met each other four months before, met in some chat, strange or new, had said "Hello!" and "How are you?", what they say at the beginning of time.
I was not looking for more than a little pastime, a chat here and there.
And now, that morning, I was on my way to see him - his image in my head, the heart in my left shoe.
His eyes were blue, turquoise blue like the sky over Lusatia, like the water in the quarry pond.
We lay hand in hand there on our backs, our skin glued together by sun milk, breaded by the sand.
We fed each other with candied fruit, with apricot jam, then we spiffed and kissed them away.
He buried his nose in Coco's "Mademoiselle", my head lay on the sun gold of his skin.
We watched the sun set in amber and apricot, wrapped ourselves in the black velvet of the night, told each other about the stars and the stones of our time.
We shared hours, days, weeks - for two whole years.
When he left, I wore "Allure".
"L'Instant de Guerlain" beams me back to this year, this summer, to this man.
Sixteen years have passed since then - the scent lets me bridge them with just one breath.
It carries the sun of those days, its fragrance and warmth, carefree and sensual and decidedly feminine.
A fragrance, twinned with the Chanels, marked by the dawning of a new era - not unknown with its sun-warm fruits, with its bouquet of dense, rich flowers, with its honey resin, but no longer loud, not as powerfully opulent as "Roma" and "Venezia", or "Laguna" for that matter.
"L'Instant de Guerlain" is softer, quieter, softer too, spotted at least, not sprayed on my winter skin.
As much comforting as the girlfriend warm arm.
Not just the day the last rose broke.