This is the small story of an old friend.
It’s a smell that fills the air from spring to summer.
The white that flower we put in our hair when it blooms all over Beirut, it’s the one made into necklaces and sold in the streets, hung in our cars and invited into our homes,
where we place them in bowls of water and bathe in their sweet scent.
They remind us of a time gone by,
of our childhood, our grandmothers and our parents, our sisters and our friends.
This is the story of a memory. This is the story of the Gardenia.
+ There are no comments
Add yours