The scarf

My beloved,
should someone ever hand you this envelope, do not lose balance.
I am leaving you my only possession, a scarf.
When you touch it, you will feel the caress of southern winds and calls to the prayer.

This scarf has been hugged by strong women, protected at times my shoulders, always a rebellious turf unwilling to comply.
It caressed ancient buildings while running for safety, it jumped on public transportation and came shopping, to work when we had one.
It has been washed every day and dried overnight, even in January, of all the months, the coldest.

It dried some tears, often not mine, and hid unwashed hair when we had no more water.It was a layer under deluges on which I always sprayed our favourite perfume; a way to brave the day together.

Should someone ever hand you this envelope, remember there is only one layer between you and me, now. The layer of time when you will join me, for eternity is ours.

I hope you felt my love in life.
Yours, forever, Z. 

The scarf now rests in H’s laboratory, in a cupboard with his finest leathers, locked.
The scents of leather, a mixture of birch, sweetness and earth combined with vanilla, Arabic oud, moss and rain.

The Southern winds the scarf captured now years back, fill the room with the perfume of two lovers.
Every morning.
H. looks outside and the sky displays clouds chasing different shapes.
He hears her voice: It is not ordinary at all to have a love to come home to

photo credit