A treasure of perfume surrounds me.
I'm poised to fill little thimbles with happiness essence: the smaller than fingertips whimsical toys, all doors making way for the memories' entrance.
I open a vial to unravel my feats, unspool the cocoon that's awaiting inside, several lives deep inside of the beats of my heart, like a Faberge egg swathed in bubble wrap sheets.
I found a young mother, too wise for her life, not ready for Glory to pour from above, who couldn't express enough awe and delight for watching the angels of god growing up.
In teardrops of joy the next thimble melts open, to offer a deeper, more intimate glimpse of a younger, ambitious, and beautiful person, with high minded goals and with cherished beliefs. A fighter, relentless in hopeful pursuit, who didn't believe in the word no's existence, whose life was a canvas to paint as she wished, to emulate heroes with faith and persistence.
I set down the young me and cast it aside, to open the vial of the starry eyed child, for whom not a thing was forbidden or bad, impossible, worthless or value aligned. Her mind for a brush, she drew paintings inside the magical sights of a whimsical land; a fairy land princess who's trailing behind her make-believe train of a gown made of love.
I reached for the baby child's vial for last, and glowing inside was a being of light, and try as I might I can't open it up: it's oneness, and perfume, and hope, and delight.
Nostalgia surrounds the small vials with its mist, as more drops of life get distilled to perfume. Their memories haunt me, they're filling the room as I try for the role of the new alchemist.
