The Goodbye Perfume

His father never said much. A man of few words, fewer emotions.

But every Sunday morning, before church, he'd stand at the bathroom mirror. One specific cologne. The ritual never changed.

Years later, after the funeral, sorting through belongings, he found the bottle. Nearly empty. He held it like a relic.

One spray. And there he was—Dad, humming off-key, tie crooked, smelling like strength and sacrifice and Sunday mornings that would never come again.

We think perfume is about smelling good. But really? It's about being remembered.

Long after words fade, scent remains. In jacket linings. On handwritten letters. In the corners of memory we visit when we need to feel less alone.

Your fragrance isn't just for today. It's the ghost you'll leave in rooms you've exited. The reminder in your child's memory decades from now. The invisible thread connecting who you were to who they'll become.

Wear something worth remembering.

Because one day, someone will hold your bottle and smile through tears.