“True love is like a bottle of cologne” he declared with a graceful voice, “it vanishes away once the cap is opened and there's only a worthless piece of plastic left”. The gloom of the night was keeping her away from seeing his facial features, still she couldn't help but to moan under his weight, faces had no significance anyways. “Maybe it does exist”, he went on as the scars on his hands got healed by the warmth of her skin, “just that; it's nothing about peace”. She closed her eyelids and let herself drift off to another dreamless sleep. His whispers wandered around in the air, covered her like a fluffy blanket and chanted the softest lullabies into her ears. A reminiscence of her mama's caresses found life in the butterfly kisses he had been planting on her waist and she squeezed his hand lightly to get a hold of them. Despite of the heavy perfume he wore, his hair smelled like newly baked cookies underneath; she inhaled deeply and found herself at the age of eight once again. The smell got stronger and stronger as she ascended the stairs to step into their small, old kitchen; it looked just the same - same as on every Tuesday night, same as in her childhood memories. She watched as her mother took a step back from the oven, handing her a cookie; then smiled- at the sweet scent of cookies mixed with the feeling of peace.
