I used a whole bottle of “Muguet de lune” that summer, an old-timey perfume my mother had when I was little. It’s like I could only breathe when I was wearing it so I sprayed it everywhere and everything in my room absorbed that smell. Citrus, lily of the valley, moss. Cold and clean. My friends didn’t share my obsession though. The thing I heard most often was it smelled like granny perfume which only made me love Muguet de lune even more.

When my mom had it, she was about my age. She seemed so grown up to me then, and yet here I was, the same age as her and still so painfully young. Now I know that admiring the beauty of the flowers was the most important thing I did in my youth. My memories of relationships, education, the books I wrote then, all of it faded. Lily of the valley still blossoms each year, tender and fragile. You go through life pretending to know something, but really you don’t know anything at all.