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I just stumbled upon this. I wrote it. But I have no idea what prompted me to do so. Sharing.

Knowing you was like being loved by a demon. Seductive but with a high incidence of blistering on my hands, arms, cheeks and inner tongue. You would enter a room and the smell of sulphur would mix with patchouli and leave me wondering whether I had just smoked weed or made deviled eggs. You would sit down, and I would lurch in your direction- each step combated by common sense and my olfactory glands- as you would toss the remote control back and forth, changing channels with a smudge of your thumb. I would arrive at your knees and plop ungracefully into your lap, nuzzling your neck with with my nose (not breathing in) and squeezing your inner thigh with my tiny hands, just because I could. Inevitably you would choose a show I considered boring and clamp your own grandiose palms on my shoulders, forcing me to breathe in your heady mix of coal, hippie and sex.

No one else seemed to notice this potent combination of smells that enveloped you in the same way certain rose perfumes cling to an old woman's skin, even after a bath. And it's fine that you made me crazy in the eyes of all my dull-nosed and pragmatic friends. Knowing you was like being loved by a demon, but you were not a demon. So why did you smell like that?