There's a can of hairspray that lives in my house. It sits on a shelf, gathering dust, untouched by my own hair. Yet I keep buying it, this exact brand, this specific variation, over and over again. 🪷 This was my Nanna's scent. 🪷 She wore this particular hairspray, always. She died when I was 18, and yet this smell still holds everything: the love, the loss, the ache of missing her, the doorway into my grief. Just the other day, as I took a photo of that familiar can, I spr

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