Aromatic Poison

He had this distinct smell, an aromatic smell. I swore he tracked my every movement; that way he could flaunt his scent.

One day I asked what it was he wore; what it was that made him smell like happiness itself.

“Be happy.”

His response agitated me to an extent, but I held on tight to the thought.

“Be happy.”

One day I decided I wanted to flaunt as well, so I took the boy’s advice and I wore a smile. I was going to be happy.

I found this boy, I took his hand and I spun him in the whirlpool of my newfound ‘happiness’.

He pushed me down.

I fell, but not onto the ground. No. This boy had pushed me into this room of reflection. Like Alice, I fell and met my deepest thoughts.

In that room, I was surrounded by the purest mirrors of hate, depression, anger, defeat, and failed triumph.

“You’re not happy” , he said.

“What scent are you wearing?

I bet its Aromatic Poison, but its sure not happiness.”

.    .    .    .    .

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