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The smell of tobacco tangled with her perfume that had remained in the sheets, on her neck, in the open blouse thrown on the floor. It was a dark perfume, not sweet, one of those scents that do not ask to be loved right away. It stays. It sits inside your nose hours later and feels less like something cosmetic and more like memory that has just acquired a body.

Between Ash and Rain (An old rough draft)
Apr 5
at
6:07 PM
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