The night before her birthday, I had a dream. I was in my room in Cluj, in a celebration of some kind. The room was divided, with one half enveloped in darkness and the other half illuminated by candles on my desk. Visitors entered, each bringing perfumes that they placed alongside the candles. Confused, I questioned myself whether it was my own birthday and why everyone was bringing perfumes. I stepped out onto the terrace and discovered my brother gazing into the sunset; for a few seconds I felt happy. I asked him about the perfumes, but he remained silent. Suddenly I realized that the perfumes were meant for my mother. I woke up in tears. When I wrote ‘Perfume’ I couldn’t write about the dream. The words were reluctant to emerge. Infinite Love.
‘Perfume’ – the dream
