Silence is paradoxical. As Alan Watts said, silence is to not lose your tongue. Only through silence can we figure out what’s worth talking about. The man who talks incessantly repeats himself ad nauseam. Incessant chatter, invasive interrogation, even insipid small talk has a sickening smell, a sickly carnival sweetness, a cloying cotton candy cancer cluster, breeding and festering, greedy and hedonistic.

So, if silence had a smell, it wouldn’t be the absence of scent. It would be something more intimate and invigorating, something that you savor as it coats your tongue. It’s YOUR scent, a chemical musk, something only you can emanate. Savor the silence, bottle it up. Inhale it when inspiration evades you. Don’t sell your smell, don’t let any Bad Men commodify it, sell it as mass-produced carcinogen laced candles.

And lastly, it’s only natural if your scent changes over time, picking up new notes and leaving old ones behind. Thus is the very nature of matter, not to be created nor destroyed, but ever changing, evolving, ascending.