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" You have yet again told me that you have changed your plans. It's Friday, beginning of July.
Ahead is a long and exhausting but exciting day, after which a romantic, brilliant and magical evening awaits me, with you. I allow myself to fall into a kind of dream, magic, because of our forthcoming reunion. It seems as though that something very large and attainable is an arm's length away. A final and lasting happiness will finally occur, as if it is somehow always beyond our grasp. Even though, so what? I thought that passion, drama and love cannot be one without the other, one simply seeks the other.
Suddenly, my mind is a vacuum.
You will arrive no sooner than tomorrow; a friend of yours will await me and make me feel like a queen. A luxury comfortable enough to be worn every day. I do not usually accompany what I do with a touch of cynicism, but the tangled knots in my brain begin to unwind.
I feel strange: at the same time melancholic, but anxious as well, it's probably foolish that I'm so tense. Retract claws - whisper to me my freshly renewed determination.
Yes, I did want stellar moments with you, relying on the forces that care for these impossible relationships, but I have long since developed my own back-up variation relating to this. I was too far into everything to be returning now. I wasn't one of those spoiled women that did not have to face life's less pleasant situations. I simply know how to rise above small burdens, but being out of form: no! That is a total debacle.
Drastic action is ahead. A woman can successfully cope with different situations, even with the harshest realities, until she has her good-looks.
I emerge from your private jet refreshed, perfumed, volumized. I am wearing white shorts, colourful tunic, sandals with vertiginous heels, speaking a simple language - I'm totally edible and just as hot. Looking like this, I completely belong in this beautiful place by the sea. I am back in the movie, live and I am trying to play the role that has been given to me.
Men's heads are turning left - right, as a sign of approval. In order to complete my impression, not only do I give off amazing energy, I am as armed and ready as a real competitor, which, of course, requires a certain kind of discipline and sacrifice.
All the same, I am portraying myself and socializing in order to fulfill certain obligations, everyone is rightfully excited to be there and do not hide their wish to have a great time. The air is filled with laughter, social conversations, clinking of glasses, mental gymnastics, which helps me to discover my own allure. Dinner was long over, but I remain until morning.
And then it happened.
- Where do I know you from - I hear the classic question, unbearable cliche, floating between our shoulders, which are only lightly touching.
- Perhaps from a former life - when you were a king, and I was queen - I answer him, as if I am resorting to a particular ploy.
Behind me is the smell of a vicious perfume, a scent that I have never met before. With a curious desire, I try to perform a discrete experiment.
- It is "Amouage" for men - explains a hoarse voice openly, seductive and open, yet no ambition to provoke me at all costs.
I admit that I have not heard of this perfume. Then, I believed that it was Chanel's Mademoiselle, something I will long wear as my trademark.
No matter how much he seemed strange, I was caught in a trap. Daydreaming and planning something crazy is one thing, another is to actually experience it. We walked away to a neutral and safe place.
We stand very close to each other. This is so powerful, dangerous and risky. Mr. Amouage obtains the masculine nonchalance of a modern cowboy. He hides nothing and never makes adjustments. Calm down Marijana - I almost became furious at myself - you need to know how far your powers reach. His eyes watched me feverishly, while his words were pouring in like a torrent that I didn't want to stop. He was so passionate, alive, almost a fictionally fantastic copy of the male species.
The next morning I packed and finally went to see my darling, and as much as I was happy about that, something did not give me peace. The sensuality of that notorious Amouage, in a mysterious way was seeded into my memory; it seemed as though I could hear it as a whisper.
A few days later, a DHL package from Harrods arrived at my Budapest address. It was a precious little treasure, Amouage toilet water, perfume, scented bath and body milk. As I stared at this package, I felt how much this phantom man yearns to merge with its scent. As I had no idea how to find him, I did not even remember his name; I entered into some kind of relationship with that perfume, which forgave all. I had other ammunition in my arsenal, but that meeting was in some inexplicable way, present in every moment of my life, introducing a strange confusion. I thought what an exciting world Mr. Amouage lived in.
Over time, this smell became so important and sacred to me, turning into a kind of ritual: a few drops of cleavage, one behind each ear and a trace behind each knee. I wore it constantly, with a high head, as well as my heels, feeling his strong arms.
An eternity passed by before we met again. Mr. Amouage, this mysterious man whom I almost know nothing about, like a storm, arrives in Budapest and staying at the Kempinski Hotel.
I decided to change my tactic. I told him about my unusual life path, children, struggles and trials through which I passed. However, hiding in my subconscious was emotion that we probably were not ready for then. He could be it all: artist and adventurer, playboy and criminal, but we weren't two strangers who masterfully fooled around at the Kempinski Hotel, as if they truly met in a former life.
We ate goose liver pate and listened to Gypsies Gundel, and I wondered if something would ever happen between us. He has captured me in a unique way. I liked it. I've always loved male hunters. However, he was a man of the moment, and I wanted to confront him face to face. As we were saying our goodbye's, I took out my tiny bottle of Amouage from my purse with that little magic wand, with which I first cut him and then myself, as when two creatures mix their blood.
- You are so different from others - he said while his entire body pulsed.
- Being different is not a crime, it is an advantage - I smiled, conscious that this was our most intimate moment, though we never kissed.
I didn't give him peace, thoughts of me were in his head day and night - as someone who is tailored based on his measurements, but he knew that he could not offer anything to me, but wanted me forever.
The last time we stood together in front of the legendary painting by Gustav Klimt - The Kiss, in an exhibition in Vienna.
I was dressed in a raincoat, put my hair up in a ponytail, and wore black fishnet stockings and elegant black pumps. He was perplexed as soon as he detected our smell on me. My precocious ambition was unable to actualize in these few hours. However, a scarf remained as homage to this miraculous image, which we bought in the museum's souvenir shop.
Although he did not become either my husband or lover, I felt that I was losing something so precious. Mr. Amouage was somewhere in Venezuela, and I was true to him no matter where. I might have admired this story more that I could bear it.
P.S. He promised that he would find me again. "