The fragrance begins where language fails.
Every bottle is a wound preserved in glass.
Some wounds deserve to be worn as perfume.
Desire is never gentle. It burns, it marks, it stays.
The skin writes what memory forgets.
A secret that remembers what you tried to erase.
You can’t wash away what lingers in the air.
The scent is the shadow of something once alive.
Beauty never asks permission. It demands a pulse.
Easy Returns.
The fragrance begins where language fails.
Every bottle is a wound preserved in glass.
Some wounds deserve to be worn as perfume.
Desire is never gentle. It burns, it marks, it stays.
The skin writes what memory forgets.
A secret that remembers what you tried to erase.
You can’t wash away what lingers in the air.
The scent is the shadow of something once alive.
Beauty never asks permission. It demands a pulse.
Easy Returns.
