MiriamHa

Oh yes, a fragrance like a hug for all those cosy days, and yet chic and fine enough for the world outside...I still love this perfume, it hasn't lost any of its elegance and feel-good factor even 14 years later. In the beginning a pleasant eraser-esque note, lots of cashmere-soft cuddly musk and a lovely amber vanilla blend. I smell nothing herbaceous, nothing green, and at most a very soft form of magnolia. Deepness through puristic restraint; if style were a colour, then vanilla beige for sure. I can wear this fragrance day after day after day after day and feel just sooooo well every time, so that nothing and nobody can do anything for me. And even if I do, I just hug it

Haven't seen you in a while, darling. One, two years? Ah, let's face it, it's been exactly three years, six days and eight hours. I'm counting because it counts for me. Not for you, you say? After all this time, still with you in your thoughts, it's crazy, right? You're right, it's madness, or just nonsense, a sentimental prank of my thoughts. Listen, time is something timeless - not seeing you or seeing you every day, what's the difference? I'll leave you alone, don't worry. Two lone wolves, I cry out for you, may your pulse beat with mine, have mercy, you are missing so much, I lose myself and don't even know where to go - I - I'll stop already. It's just that... the bottle is almost empty, will you give it to me again? I'll pay for it too, you promise me. I'm wearing the dress you like, don't you like it anymore? I'm not angry. I just want to talk to you. Or to keep quiet, that's fine too, please let me stay, just until tomorrow morning...or longer if you like?
Don't you love me at all? I shouldn't have said that, I know it's nonsense... do you still live with your brother? Maybe I can come over, it's your birthday soon and - that's right, you don't like that. Alright, I'll... let you know, okay? We could be together... or alone, be together and listen to music, like we used to.
What do you mean, you're...? Oh, I see. No, no, no problem, I'm happy for you - for you, of course! I, I just thought... you and me, so we... Yeah, I get it.

I wanted to go to Ecuador with you. Walk in the jungle, belly full of melons and frosting. Build a raft, maybe, and chug it past lush rose fields. See geckos and parrots, go dancing and sing Spanish at the top of your lungs. I wanted to buy lemons at the market with you and light leather shoes to match your honey-eyes. Ixj wanted to sweat in the hammock with you and turn me in circles until we get sick. I only had to smell me once after you gave me a bottle of perfume and I was there with you, right there. And I smelled like roses and leather and melons and sugar and just everything that we were meant to be. And then you were gone before the bottle was empty and now I'm standing here and going to Ecuador and I can't leave you at home because your story is kind of my story too, at least for a few minutes

Many of you think that where it says "Amouage" on it, there is genius in it. These are the same people who don't understand that Roncadin supplies both Landliebe and Aldi Nord with vanilla ice cream. The best ingredients at drastically different prices to give the hierarchical pseudo-superiority of the supposed upper class satisfaction. What is the result? Good products get bad reviews because you prefer to adorn yourself with the emperor's new clothes without realizing that you are becoming the absolute village idiot.
Porto Bello is one of the perfumes that surprises me most positively this year. Seen at Kaufhof, immediately impressed by the appealing presentation, I was one of the first to spray the fragrance from this store. Frankincense suits me very well, it works well with my skin and I find it special, different, unconventional. Porto Bello starts with a warm, spicy incense-vanilla blend, it has almost a gourmand quality. The orange that is added is subtle; I rather perceive a certain sweetness, but this does not overlay the incense either. I like this very much, because the scent reminds me of a somewhat sweeter Black Cashmere by Donna Karan, and this one has unfortunately been discontinued. So with Porto Bello I am floating on clouds that were thought to be lost. Most people probably associate Sardinia with the term; but funny enough, there is also a district in Dublin called Portobello and I have to say that Ireland is not only closer to me than Italy, I also find the fragrance very Irish, wild in the heart and rawly charming. By the way, the perfume lasts as long as an Irish night in a pub with a stormy silage. So while you continue to refine your toilet paper with Amouage, I enjoy my elegant bargain - I bet I smell better than you

17.12.16, 19:34, 4°C, Hansastraße 24. Dark blue coat, black pantyhose, night blue bag, brown boots, sweaty mind, showered skin, steaming breath. No sex of the genitals, but sex of the bodies, dancing body. A parallel universe in this temporary studio, amateurs on top of their feet and emotional performance. Fighting with balance and against gravity, for aesthetics and against exhaustion. I've been dancing for three years, I've been going through hell for one. I liked him from the beginning, I obviously liked him later, but then with double intensity. He wanted me, perhaps more passionate than this other woman, but probably not as consistent as he wanted her to be. I accepted it, cried a lot, ate little, slept moderately. I felt so strange, decoupled from myself, like a robot that works because it has to for the sake of other people, not for itself. L'amour pour l'amour, moi-même pour le toi. I only had one wish at the time, and that wish wasn't even you. I wanted to finally see again, a perspective that wasn't named after you.
Only when I had left my ways could I also leave you and with you this abyss. You put all that away like an old 5 euro bill, I like a heavy defeat.
Almost two years later I sit here, your letter in front of me asking to see you again. I have nothing left of you, not even the ancient passport photo I stole from you. Still, I don't have to think long to remember all that we (weren't). And what were we? Well, we were a lot of ballet, common evenings in your kitchen, abstinence, infatuation, hope, despair, bubble baths and burning hair, tears, ignorance, passion, Arabic restaurants and Spanish music, and far too much fear.
You were a storm cloud, and I was a perfume. You were Égoïste and I was Arabesque. Not that it was important to you; you didn't even know what scent I was wearing. But I knew it. I stood in your bathroom and dusted myself with your perfume, got myself a bottle to spray away the many uncertainties. And whenever I wanted to stop wanting you, I'd go for arabesque. Because I felt beautiful with it, because I was more confident, and above all because it comforted me to have a little warmth in my hair in our cooled romance. I felt cold evening air and warm cinnamon, clear senses in a tipsy plum, bland loneliness with spicy tobacco. It made my nights a little more tender, my days a little more comfortable. Yes, that scent distracted me from yours. I could relax better, even meditate, and once again be self-centered. Many bathtub fillings and good books later I started to stop waiting for you. At some point the scent was empty and with it my feelings for you. I never reordered it, even though I liked it a lot.
Now I hold your letter in my hands, clearly, this is Égoïste. I'll answer you for old time's sake. But first I'll have a bottle of arabesque - for my sake.