Gente que Cuenta

The penultimate drop,
by Leonor Henríquez

Andy Warhol Atril press
Andy Warhol,
Ilustración realizada para Harper’s Bazaar, Abril de 1956

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      It is activated by our personal chemistry.

And depending on our day, it leaves a festive or ethereal trail, radiant or melancholic, but I would say always sensual.

Without it, I feel like I’m missing something.

I once read that everyone who expects to be kissed should wear it.

Yes, it’s the perfume.

It must be carried with discretion of course, as sometimes it can be invasive.

This reflection is relevant because every morning I see my favorite one, almost empty and I think I have to replace it, but magically when I squeeze the atomizer, one drop or even two, divine and fragrant, always comes out.

And so, day after day, the mysterious balm refused to die and always managed to squeeze a little more out of the bottle.

Until today.

That duo of salsa singers, Lavoe&Colón, sort of tropical philosophers, already said it: “Everything has an end, nothing lasts forever…”

I went out to the perfume store and bought my favorite scent. Money very well spent.

Before recycling the old and exhausted bottle that was a companion to my skin’s alchemy for so many days, I couldn’t resist the temptation and squeezed the atomizer one last time.

As empty as it seemed, the crystal recipient offered me its persistent breath, as intense and seductive as the first day.

As always, I made my trivial philosophical extrapolations and concluded that nothing, not even oneself, is ever as exhausted or empty as one imagines.

Should we rewrite that song?  Should life be lived by this?

Giving, offering some of our essence, until, never the last, always the penultimate drop.

www.atril .press Leonor Henríquez e1670869356570
Leonor Henríquez (Caracas, Venezuela) Civil Engineer by training (UCAB 1985), writer and apprentice poet by vocation. From her time in engineering emerged her Office Stories (1997), another way of seeing the corporate world. Her latest publications include reflections on grief, Hopecrumbs (2020) ( and “The Adventures of Chispita” (2021) ( an allegory of life inside Mom’s belly.
Today she shares her “impulsive meditations” from Calgary, Canada, where she lives.

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