It’s uncanny how a scent can feel like a memory, like lavender whispering calm after a storm, chamomile sighing relief, foxglove holding that stubborn hope you’re not ready to let go of. I’ve tried to trace the lines between their aromas and my own heartbeats, but the stories are always in between the notes—quiet, unspoken. It’s less about the plant and more about what we project onto them. You’re not alone in that.