My Recent Divorce, and/or Dior Homme Intense
Metadata
Highlights
- felt every emotion I was capable of experiencing, in an emulsion which hung about my skin.
- By the next day, after I wandered around the neighborhood to make sure I hadn’t just parked it somewhere weird, I’d decided that we should, in fact, call off the marriage, which she’d predicted I would.
- But, clearly, this is not true—our identity is distributed in the people around us, our routines and possessions, as much as it is held in a bone cage perched upon the spine.
- It’s the pale core of spring earth, the slender butter of morning, the lightest air breathed from the mouth of a slightly musty hallway.
- The root must grow for three years in the dirt, and then age in the sun for another two, before it takes on the painstakingly produced newness that is its trademark. If, on some crazy intuition, Victoria and I had planted some iris on the day we’d met, it would have been almost, but not quite, ready for use by the time our relationship ended.
- I’d chosen a sensible Civic for the task, but the Enterprise misplaced it, giving me a big red Dodge Challenger in replacement. It filled with the scent of Dior Homme Intense and went vroom vroom.
- with a giddy smile on my face, or tears in my eyes, or a look of fixed tight fury, depending on which second you caught me in.
- It is always the moment just before death but sometimes it especially feels that way.
- The desert house, whose doorframes we’d recently finished together, was tranquil and clean and she was civil and kind and we filled out the necessary papers and went to the notary and we were super super adult about it.
- Our first conversation unmemorable for the words themselves, but highly memorable for their cadence, composing a seeming invitation to an infinite field of play, a new country whose charter we’d just begun drawing up.
- But that’s kind of irrelevant: the substance of the marriage was a being we created together, a mutually created person, which I, with a few words, had sentenced to exile.
- One is: he is always seeking the brighter side of life, and, in that seeking, brightens what is near, never settling for misery that doesn’t need to be there, chasing ugly and transient clouds from the otherwise clear skies of himself and those around him. Another is: in his desire for pleasantness, he turns away from the darkness that has to be faced in the creation of anything good and true.
- In the end, Dior Homme Intense winds down beautifully—while it’s quite large and stately in the opening stages, it falls, after a period of hours, like an elegant melancholic onto a therapist’s sofa, into a prettily crumpled little package.
- It curls into a new resolution, a small cloudy pearl, its giant mass seemingly collected inwards, as in the formation of a quiet star. That’s what I hope the better memories of these years will do—fold and gather, losing all of their heat but not all of their light. Some of them will, some of them won’t.
title: “My Recent Divorce, and/or Dior Homme Intense”
author: “sashachapin.substack.com”
url: ”https://sashachapin.substack.com/p/my-recent-divorce-andor-dior-homme”
date: 2023-12-19
source: hypothesis
tags: media/articles
My Recent Divorce, and/or Dior Homme Intense
Metadata
Highlights
- felt every emotion I was capable of experiencing, in an emulsion which hung about my skin.
- By the next day, after I wandered around the neighborhood to make sure I hadn’t just parked it somewhere weird, I’d decided that we should, in fact, call off the marriage, which she’d predicted I would.
- But, clearly, this is not true—our identity is distributed in the people around us, our routines and possessions, as much as it is held in a bone cage perched upon the spine.
- It’s the pale core of spring earth, the slender butter of morning, the lightest air breathed from the mouth of a slightly musty hallway.
- The root must grow for three years in the dirt, and then age in the sun for another two, before it takes on the painstakingly produced newness that is its trademark. If, on some crazy intuition, Victoria and I had planted some iris on the day we’d met, it would have been almost, but not quite, ready for use by the time our relationship ended.
- I’d chosen a sensible Civic for the task, but the Enterprise misplaced it, giving me a big red Dodge Challenger in replacement. It filled with the scent of Dior Homme Intense and went vroom vroom.
- with a giddy smile on my face, or tears in my eyes, or a look of fixed tight fury, depending on which second you caught me in.
- It is always the moment just before death but sometimes it especially feels that way.
- The desert house, whose doorframes we’d recently finished together, was tranquil and clean and she was civil and kind and we filled out the necessary papers and went to the notary and we were super super adult about it.
- Our first conversation unmemorable for the words themselves, but highly memorable for their cadence, composing a seeming invitation to an infinite field of play, a new country whose charter we’d just begun drawing up.
- But that’s kind of irrelevant: the substance of the marriage was a being we created together, a mutually created person, which I, with a few words, had sentenced to exile.
- One is: he is always seeking the brighter side of life, and, in that seeking, brightens what is near, never settling for misery that doesn’t need to be there, chasing ugly and transient clouds from the otherwise clear skies of himself and those around him. Another is: in his desire for pleasantness, he turns away from the darkness that has to be faced in the creation of anything good and true.
- In the end, Dior Homme Intense winds down beautifully—while it’s quite large and stately in the opening stages, it falls, after a period of hours, like an elegant melancholic onto a therapist’s sofa, into a prettily crumpled little package.
- It curls into a new resolution, a small cloudy pearl, its giant mass seemingly collected inwards, as in the formation of a quiet star. That’s what I hope the better memories of these years will do—fold and gather, losing all of their heat but not all of their light. Some of them will, some of them won’t.