He takes my hand and steps closer, so close my bones are jittery. He smells like the Magic Pumpkin and fresh deodorant and cinnamon, and it’s a scent I want burned into my memory. I want it on my clothes. I want his gaze, the way he looks at me – like I’m the last star in the night sky and the first one at dusk – branded on my heart.
-Ashley Poston
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