If silence had a smell, it would smell like the morning dew just before sunrise, waiting for the bus to take you to school before the rest of the world around you is awake. Or maybe a new and empty house, when you’re upstairs checking out all the rooms while your family is outside checking out the backyard, just out of earshot. It can be the smell of something safe and comforting when the world outside is too chaotic and overwhelming. Sometimes, it’s the smell of someone you love lingering behind, when you know with an aching certainty in your heart that this smell will fade, then be gone forever. It’s the smell of a place of worship, or a funeral home, in a time of mourning. It’s any smell you don’t notice when the world is loud and busy, but becomes acutely present in moments of quiet, like in the anticipation of new beginnings, the moments of quiet comfort, and the loneliness of melancholic ends.