something about a scent that doesn't announce itself

The bottle stopped me first. Then the floral opened on skin and it shifted into something quieter, warmer - closer to a pressed memory than a perfume.

Wears soft.

Something about the timber notes in this one felt different - not sharp, not trying. Just warm in a way that reads like a book left open near a window at the end of the day.

I kept coming back to it.

Fresh without being clean in that sterile, soapy way. It sits closer to morning air than anything else I can describe - woody underneath, light on top, easy to forget you're wearing it until someone else notices.

which is either nothing or everything