Old Book opens the page with top notes of cucumber, eucalyptus and bergamot. By the second chapter, infusions of artemisia, lavender and amber are written in bold. Sandalwood and vetiver fall on the final page, leaving the reader with a jovial feeling that follows them all week long.
Redolent of the aged armchairs that line the library halls. I purposely endeavoured to get lost within each page and each aisle, an escapism that remains unmatched. My full attentiveness was granted to the black script that crowded the course ivory story-telling sheets. My own tale only appeared more grey with old book immersion, but reading was a compulsion where I refused to stray. Fanatical narratives and real-life experiences alike, If I were an old book, I’d pray to be read every night.