~ frangipanni to most, araliya to me ~
My olfactory system has a voracious appetite — I’m a compulsive sniffer.
Frangipanni evokes flesh-wrenching memories of Sri Lanka, its rainforests, its ebony-sinewed demigods, hot wet nights, and rainstorms like long-drawn-out lust, so I avoid sticking my nose into its flesh-silk-heavy-heady heart. Too many memories. An ache that wants all of it back with what can only be the…