Some love affairs end in tears. And that’s not even the end… merely the beginning of an achingly empty half-life; a greyed out zone of sleepless nights measured dully by a haze of minutes that stretch into weeks within the agony of timeless dread.
Tides of emotions ebb and flow, nothing seems to lift the sedative of heartache. Nightmares lure you back into the wonder of how-it-was.
Lost love is ghostly, suddenly reflected in windows, and instantly disappearing again. Your love’s own vocal timbre is snatched in stairwells, caught in cinemas and subways, but deep inside the clenching ache, the cruelty of truth is waiting. You are alone, and its over.
Deep yearning for some ecstatic reunion taunts you in haunting memories of each tender embrace and your hunger is now piqued by suffering and remorse. What wrongs were wrought in your crazed folly? You crave the sacredness of your shared touch, your shared scent, the simple warmth of closeness. And yet, the shadows of your obsession are bleak and empty. And on your darkest day, the longest day of rain and dreary heartache, you find the message.
One perfect bloom of milk and honey, written just for you, gathered only for you, and in that instant, all grey is gone.
Avant Gardenia is an ode to the velvet Queen of white flowers. Notes may or may not include myrrh, amyris, some white florals, some yellow florals, a couple of blue florals, sandalwood spicatum and 47 magic beans. No tuberose involvement whatsoever.