The other day I found a box of crayons on my niece’s desk. Unashamedly, I picked it up and took a long, pleasurable whiff. “Yes! They smell right,” I said to myself with eyes closed and a silly smile on my face. My niece stared at me as if I was not quite in my senses. But that’s okay, she doesn’t know.
There’s something about the fragrance of crayons that sends you shooting back to your childhood. To those countless moments when you sat scribbling in your colouring book for hours, struggling to keep the colours within the outline or trying to be creative and experiment with some shading.
Some crayons smell the same as they did then. I like things that never change; a constant in your life. Like the fragrance of rain on dry earth or cement, or the sweet-smelling Harsingar blossoms. Thank heavens for these things that stay the same, in a world that’s constantly changing like a stage backdrop.
Crayons, you still smell delicious. I could eat you.