Dazed Epiphany

That scent I chase ... it flies through the petals, ruffling their silence with the soft tinkling of windchimes,

With the zephyr arrives the soft perfume of comfort, the fragrance of flora.

Feet patter softly on the rain washed cobblestones as the sky bathes in azure,

The quiet fluttering of the curtains and the soft eyes peeking from behind sneak up on me, soft laughter stirring my memory.

Raindrops trickle down my memory, bathing everything in the colour of the rain.

The fruit of melancholy.

Moist, sweet and sour, notes of bitterness lingering on the tongue, making foreheads crease and eyebrows furrow.

The scent I chase ... it leaves behind a fruity aftertaste on my tongue, inciting me to delve deeper, look further.

It glides over my skin, tickling it softly, before flying off with the zephyr.

Memories and dreams blur - they grow dazed with age, drunk on the wine of memory, intoxicated and stumbling through the hallways, giggling mischievously.

The petrichor surrounds me. I close my eyes to breathe properly for the first time.

It fills my lungs, lifts my feet off the ground, and leaves my gaze tinged with azure.

Oh, that daze.

Wish you descend upon me again, wish you let me patter on your rain soaked cobblestones again.

For the scent I chase ... it chases me too.