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Wouldn't it be cool if epiphany smelled like lemons?

I was just thinking- poets for years have tried to assign external tags to internal concepts, like saying joy looks like this, sounds like that, feels this way... but they never say how it smells.

And if we could attach a scent, for its potency, its emotional baggage, its bright or darkness or cloying flavor, to something that's so difficult to define, think of all the possibilities.

I thought lemons for epiphany for its brightness, the sharp cleanness of it- even though sometimes we associate "lemon" with something bad, something sour, its scent is evocative of things like summer, brightness, clarity. Yellow is such an underrated color- where would we be without yellows in the world? It's cheerful, it's uplifting, it balances out the passionate, melodramatic colors that have become so popular these days. Not opulent gold or blinding neon, just yellow.

And there's more. What if fear smelled like a leaking gas stove? It's that uneasy, I-might-be-sick aroma that twists in your stomach and makes you want to escape. And if exposed to it too long, yes, it can kill you. It's colorless, almost intangible, but you know, in the base of your spine, the quiver of your nostrils, the thud of your stomach, you know it's there.

Love could smell like a match just struck. Maybe I'm weird, but I find a comfort in that dusky whiff of flared sulfer and balsa that comes right before a candle begins to glow. It's like a promise.

Friendship would smell like chocolate and coffee beans. Anger would smell like hot sidewalks. Hate would smell like rotting eggs. Heartbreak would smell like wine, with its tang of beauty gone sour and the heady drunken weight of it.

Loneliness might smell of mildew. Surprise like cinnamon. Comfort like freshly-washed laundry.

There are a million emotions out there. Go smell them.

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