My favorite smell is that of freshly mowed grass, but I am severely allergic to the very thing that the smell comes from.
The smell I love more than anything has the potential to make my eyes swell shut and my skin break out in rashes.
The thing that makes me want to open my windows and sit outside in the middle of the summer after the neighbors mow their lawn is the very same thing that makes me need to keep those windows shut and stay inside.
Through it all, I’ve found that I’ll stay out to smell the grass regardless of the after-effects that take place.
That is simply the way I am. It doesn’t matter whether I know something will slowly but surely be detrimental to my health and well-being; it has become almost a guilty pleasure of sorts.
The smell of the grass is one that I would choose over that of a field of flowers if given the chance. It is one that, if I were to somehow lose my sense of smell tomorrow, the memory would be the last one I hold onto.
It is one that fills me with a joy that even my favorite candles don’t fill me with.
It brings me to such unfathomable heights; my body drags behind me as my soul enters the realm of all things unattainable. Unappeasable.
And yet, I continue to inhale the scent that brings such an indescribable feeling of fulfillment.
It stings in my nostrils and it burns my eyes, but I wouldn’t dare give up the opportunity to smell it over and over again for the rest of my life.
And so, I ignore the everpresent twinge of physical discomfort because it’s merely that: physical.
The subconscious satisfaction that comes alongside that anguish almost drowns out every last bit of vexation left in me; however, the swollen eyes and inability to breathe tend to catch up with me sooner or later.
I let myself get hurt because why would I give up that feeling? Why would I sacrifice the thing that makes me so incredibly happy just because of some annoyance that my body holds with it?
It’s not just about grass.
It’s everything in life.
I’m entirely vulnerable in the sense that I do everything in my power to hold onto the things that will eventually hurt me.
I’m learning, though.
Slowly but surely, I’m learning.
And maybe, sometime down the road, I will be able to smell the grass without feeling the pain.
