I took a deep breath filling my lungs entirely with the mystic smell that seem to have diffused entirely into the air. Like a dream,I was absorbed and as I felt awake, i was immediately startled and awestuck to find myself drooling over the bedrest with a book on my chest. The aroma is equally intense even now and i am puzzled,confused and demented . I see nothing but some old wood and rusty books lying by, a brass jar and a lamp standing by. But this aroma, the beautiful smell of the newly sprung rose, red and yellow and white rose, where is it from?
I turn my head,in search, right and left and centre; lost in between some fairytale love, distracted on and off by an imaginary masculine touch, a long struggle and here i am after a long long search eyeing this painting of purple and peach roses hanging quietly by the corner to the left of my bed….
Ah!! For heavean’s sake have i gone mad? Or is it that paitings of roses do smell real Monday mornings from 8 to 10?