Meet Me at My Place by Eve Balabekian

meet me at my place,

and let’s go smell the lilac. cotton candy sky, juvenile grunge rock. gossiping about the dreams, about the boys, under the green bushes. there’s a song, and there’s your name in it; and i sang it to you nervously, playing my ukulele. i would pick the star-shaped lilacs and keep them for good luck. there’s also the ones with six and even seven petals on them. they smell of syrup, cloyingly-sweet. they smell of our summers, of our friendship in the oak trees. i would add them in my drinks, in my colour-changing violet lemonade. i would put them in water bowls with crystals and essential oils. and at fifteen parents got me this room fragrance that smelled of our memories. my bedroom got overflown with them.

time passed. we no longer meet, no longer speak. we moved cities. 

i don’t know if this smell means anything to you, any more. or if it meant anything at all. 

as for me: this year, i haven’t smelled the lilac even once. 

however, despite everything, i swear: i’ll never forget the smell. 

i’ll never forget our teenage days. 

and i’ll never forget your smile.