Cradle to Grave
''
21, smell
The scent of my mother's perfume… the oils in my father's beard… Owen's toddler essence when he pressed his face close to mine…
For a long time, they lingered. They must have.
Surely, the Jedi crèche must have 'smelt' different to my tiny nostrils. The anti-septic smell of regularly cleaned walls must have contrasted sharply with the cocktail of talc and perfumed talisman of my old nursery. The strange smell of so many different creatures must have been alien to me, used as I was to being around only humans.
I forgot those smells in time. We all do, eventually.
''