When I say I like the smell of lavender, I don’t mean the lavender candles or the body spray you might find at Bath and Body Works.
I mean I love the smell of lavender fields that I smell through the open window of a car as I drive to the airport for the trip home.
When i say i love the smell of baking cookies, I don’t mean an air freshener.
I mean I love the smell of making German spice cookies with my mother the week before Christmas.
When I say I love the smell of pumpkin, I don’t mean the smell of a pumpkin spice latte.
I mean the smell of pumpkin pie right out of the oven.
When I say I love the smell of strawberries, I don’t mean the smell of strawberry chewing gum.
I mean the smell of strawberries I bought from a roadside stand, and they still taste of sunshine.
When I say I love the smell of coffee, I don’t mean Starbucks.
I mean I love the smell of my parents’ coffee, at home, on a summer morning.
Smells are memories. And you can’t put them in a candle or a body spray or a can of Febreeze. Don’t even try.