When I first moved here, I knew it was different. It wasn’t a shiny new condo – something older, something with a history. The kind of place where it tells a story you want to know more about.

I wanted something with a little soul, yet one where there is room for my story. So, I ended up here—a house that wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. It had a quiet garden that had clearly been left to its own devices for years, yet alive and waiting. The wooden floors creaked a bit, so you knew they were there.

I noticed a wooden shelf intended for books that I hadn’t seen when touring the house with the realtor. I approached it and realized that it was more than just a built-in bookshelf – It had a room behind it. A study? A lab?

There was a brown bottle of perfume placed on an antique wooden table inside. I wasn’t sure whether I could approach it, but it felt right to do so. I say that because it seemed to have been left there deliberately, either for me or the following owner, if not me.

I allowed myself some time to think it over, as my thoughts—and interpretations of what was happening—had already started overwhelming me a bit.

I continued touring the apartment to collect more information, so my mind could make sense of things. The house smelled heavenly on my first visit. I was starting to really enjoy everything this place offered. I went out into the garden to search for more cues. The previous owners must have loved nature as it was. The plants seemed rather local for the most part. There were a few that needed more attention, but I first needed to research them before watering and pruning them.

As I was walking back, a small lavender field caught my eye. It was on a hidden corner in the back of the house. I thought to myself that reading here before bed would be quite the thing! So, this was the first place I knew how to enjoy to my liking.

I left the bottle alone for the night. Unpacking took quite some time, so I was physically and mentally ready for a good night. I went out to read a bit by the lavender field, but the neighborhood and the sky stole my attention.

The next morning, the sunlight was pouring in. At this point in my life, I’ve learned to love the sun and not avoid it. I couldn’t care less about its harm because I know how perfect and right it feels to enjoy it. With that said, I couldn’t ignore the bottle anymore. It sat there like it was waiting for me.

I stepped into the small room to examine it once again, this time in the daylight. The place had its own charm, charisma, and personality. There were bunches of dried flowers and some beautiful antique pieces in good shape, placed on a Persian rug that brought life to the wooden floor.

I picked up the bottle. The scent hit me right away, and this was what had been lingering all along. It beautifully complemented the energy of the sun’s rays. I could smell the notes of blueberries and tangerines—coming from a brown glass bottle, not a scent profile one would expect at first.

I wasn’t sure what was next, but I knew I could trust the process, as always. Things find their place if you allow yourself the time for your mind and experiences to figure out where they can belong. I wasn’t worried, but actually quite excited to find out how things would play out. So, I let myself try it on my skin.

Magnetic and multifaceted!

The perfume sprayed beautifully over my heart. It made a bold, complex statement that words alone cannot capture. Like trying to describe a color to someone who had never seen it before.

I had no idea what lay ahead, but I knew there would be much to uncover down the road. Perhaps this was what had drawn me to this place.

I moved back into the main part of the house. Things had already started feeling different. The perfume had opened a door inside of me, one that led to something I didn’t know I was seeking.

Unpacking the remaining boxes, I wanted to know more about what it was I was experiencing. Were these unprocessed memories, or those that needed to be made, that I could sense?

I had to go back for another spritz!

I knew this might be the only bottle, so I shouldn’t get too carried away. I went for it again, and it felt like it was settling into my thoughts. Should I be concerned? It was changing the way I saw the room around me. My ideas were different now, priorities had shifted.

This place now belonged to me, and I was going to continue its story. I didn’t mind the fact that there were more questions than answers. After all, that is what life is like—more questions than answers.