--Index--
This is the official beginning of the W.W. Project.
I am currently sitting in my bed with a heavy headache. It is 20:13. I skipped cinema night with J. I told him about the headache.
xxxxxxx, if you are there already I will come, oh, xxx I will just go home and chill, had to sell cheese at 8 am. I get it.
I am relieved that he is not disappointed.
But of course it is not ACTUALLY about the headache, even though that has become quite an issue since I started taking my pills every day at 17:07 (snooze / snooze). No.
No, it is about my body who is playing tricks on me, trying to fool me into bleeding for weeks at a time and going down with straight legs and a bent back rather than on my knees, my precious knees, and about
my brain playing tricks on my perception, fooling me into seeing everything that crosses my way through this dark, sticky, ugly ass veil.
I did some 10 minute meditation on Youtube while lying in R. R.'s Alexandertechnique-master-position. Right after, I grabbed my phone and started
scrolling through my notes, hoping to find an answer to something, at least.
Of course I couldn't find it (I guess we can all agree that an iPhone XS 2020 cannot give you an answer to this something), but what I found instead was you. And that, I found way more interesting.
Honestly, idk either.
I thought the best time to start would be now and the best medium html code - no notebook, no notes app, just raw code to give this weird, impressive figure that I created in my mind over the past years a body.
A body of letters.
It all started when I came to this party at this place almost five years ago. It was the first time I saw you, you were sitting on a sofa with X., making silly jokes, I guess.
I had heard so much of you already that I figured you must be a) very b, c) very d and e) a very good f.
Parenthesis: I tried to provide more explicit details on that evening, but I deleted the paragraph because I realized that it is neither interesting nor important and
would only increase the risk of YOU becoming an actual, real person, which is kind of untrue, unnecessary and preventable.
Anyway. This party and that dinner and your crazy shoes. It hit me, but it was a hit without resonance because there was no you in my life to resonate with. It was a peaceful time.
It ended when we really talked for the first time. I was overwhelmed for several reasons, but it was especially your smell that irritated me.
Even now that I think about it, I can still recall it vividly. More vividly than your face, your voice. The smell was you, it was perfect for you.
I later found out that a lot of people aspire to smell like this. There were times when I could not walk past N. in peace without at least one
man capturing my attention by leaving your trace on the curbstone. But don't worry, none of them nearly ever smelled as heavenly as you.
All notes
February 23: do I love the person or do I love the smell
An Evocation (beschwörung) of Exuberance (ausgelassenheit). A positive overdose of woods, woody notes and synthetic wood constructions
(Wood gone mad).
I bought the perfume you (used to) wear so that I can keep you close somehow
Trying to free myself from thinking about you whenever I smell it (a lot of people wear it around here) by connecting it to new memories
This is my magic trick, my potion. Two splashes for confidence, three splashes for serenity, four splashes for arrogance.
still don't know where to go with this
Two months after the First Draft: Things might feel like they're falling apart - of course they do, your new life will cost you your old one (quoted from a fucking instagram reel - you scroll and scroll, hoping that the next
one will change everything, finally give you the information you need, the knowledge you always hoped for - and then you actually get it, after 10 years of swiping your thumb up, up, up)
W.W. - a smell, a feeling. Of safety, security, belonging
A magical potion almost, something that provides strength in moments of fear, a reminder that courage is with one, within one
(I usually put it on before an opening, just to feel a bit like you)
W.W. - a person, a loved one, an old love, a love that didn't work, a match that didn't match. The one that got away
The one that smelled like W.W. since you met them. The one that changed their perfume. Same company, only the flask is now purple. It still smells heavenly, all these
perfumes do so on your body (your skin seems to love them; not the ink I pressed into it last winter, not the dirty city air, but all the smells you cover it with, it sucks them in like I used to suck them in).
But the purple one is not the same. The W.W. (the spell, the curse), it's gone for good.
Then this other smell; pungent. I disliked it for long, it kept me distant, held me back, then switch. Drug. (My only) No W.W., more like laundry, maybe worn a day too much, and the smell of hair,
just because you have so much of it, and this perfume you sometimes put on, but not today, today I didn't even put it on, you say, yet still there are traces of it all over your body and your clothes and your
hair, your hair, your hair that you cut yourself this morning, and it looks so nice today. And I was even allowed to touch it earlier, and I loved it because I didn't forget how you told me that you like when I
run my hands through your hair, but then you pushed my hands away and you said, I don't like it anymore when you do that, and I suddenly realized that you are really not in love with me. And I realized
that I made a big, big mistake. And I wanna regret, but that would be the easy way out.
You promised to be there for me, and the funny thing is, you really are, you are everywhere, we really breathe the same air, only that I get crazy whenever I smell you filling it with your spell, your
personal W.W., while you enter the room and you smell the same air but you have no struggles breathing because you don't notice your smell as much, and also you are not as much in love with you as I am,
I guess, and also you don't like my perfume as much.
Your presence soothes me, you are there for me, so much more than I was when you needed me.
And then there's this third smell. I struggle recalling it in detail. You showed me the flask once, a weird, heavy glass bottle with a green liquid (the poison, the curse. I could have known
it back then already.). You brought it
to My Place in a small plastic bag, and you left that bag on my table when you left the city, and I left it on said table for months and opened it to catch a brief
scent almost every night before going to bed. mmmhhhhh
At some point, I realized that there was never much more to this curse than a little plastic bag of air (all hot air). I am happy to announce that I do not really care about you anymore,
finally, and not even that much as that I would wanna regret keeping this plastic bag of air, all hot air, for so long. It's ok, I guess.
P. told me I should give it some more time. That soothed me somehow. Surprisingly, I must say, since I usually think this is the most annoying thing to say to someone who is trying to let go. Like, obviously, how tf would I not give it time, you don't decide to give time,
the time takes you, takes from you. But after all, he might be right. It might be best to fix what can be fixed; not only for me, but for all of us. Clean up. Day 7. (Laundry Day)
Somehow, I thought this would turn out differently. It has been a year now since things took a turn, a lot has happened, and these stories I've been through so many times in my head now feel like
they finally came to an end.
I talked things through, with you, with D., with my parents even - and with myself, so many times. Nothing more to save. I did all I could. (I definitely did not.) Sometimes, things will just not go back to how they were.
And maybe that's okay.
Conclusion: I am sick of smelling this perfume at every opening I go to. Just yesterday, I asked this person, What is that smell? and as I spoke it out loud I already thought, Please,
don't let it be it, and of course, it was it on their skin. A. told me that she uses it too. I will bring it with me when I visit her in summer. I just wish artists would discover a new trend.