Death by Svitlana Burmistrova

It is not the scent of lavender or a delicate rose.

The last time I kissed her forehead, she had the smell of earth, soap and a body that had already begun to decompose. If I were a perfumer, I would call it ‘Death’. When we first met, her apartment smelled like different flowers. 

"Look at this handsome hibiscus, the professor gave it to me from his office for being the best in my botany test! "

It's the best flower in my collection."

And it was true, she tenderly cared for its petals, and it gratefully gave her its fragrance. Once I gave her flowers in a bouquet and almost saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for reacting like this. "  These roses are gorgeous, but they will only last for a couple of days and then they will fade."

Since then, I have only given flowers or plants in pots. When we left, she asked her mum to look after the flowers. 

"Mum, water the bellflower twice a week with room temperature water and keep the orchid in the sun. We will come back alive for sure."

We often dreamed of a future together between battles

‘When the war is over, I will open a botanical garden and plant only the flowers I want and give tours on my own.’ 

I will never go to botanical gardens again. I picked up the hibiscus flower next to her and breathed in the scent of this flower for the last time, her body was covered with a lid with the flag of Ukraine and was put in the ground.

My lungs were filled with numerous emotions. The aroma of the earth, the fading scent of hibiscus, dampness, and rain filled my head, and my vision was blurred by tears.

When I returned home, I realised that the flowers smelled like death, they no longer exude that beautiful scent when they meet a gift. This smell will always be with me.