Not just olfactory

Late at night, I lay in some warm limbo of near-sleep when it hits me, unmistakable:

1. her smell. I remember her smell. It’s like getting my face slapped.
2. push it away/inhale as deep as I can?

3. it came out of nowhere, out of nothing, nothing in the room does/should smell of her, yet her smell forced itself upon me, played with me for a few seconds.
4. I inhale as hard as I can, afraid that it will go away, that it will turn out to be something else.

5. Do you know how difficult it is to remember someone’s smell? And how defiantly impossible to describe? I can’t even begin to describe it, I’m not subtle or lyrical enough to not immediately fall into the linguistic trap filled with ‘powerful’ and ‘rich’ and ‘spicy’; and still, should I try, you would never know what her smell is. I can’t even use a synonym or it for the sake of avoiding repetition.
6. Her smell is the thing I can’t rationalise, cut into pieces and put in a box.
7. It’s the smell that would greet me, again and again, on my arrival at the airport, when I would throw myself on her and think – this is where I want to be.

2. push it away/inhale as deep as I can?

8. I think I enjoy getting my face slapped.