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Grayscale

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It was something
about the way
he smelled
that made her stay, but






she only realized it after she was gone.


She perched on the edge of the sink



watching her grandfather shave his
prickly whiskers
her Mary Janes and frilly socks
dangled
freely
in air
which was thick with the smell of












the clear blue shaving cream from the red can
it felt so cool and smooth against tips
of tiny fingers.



His smell was flowery, but
nothing like the canary daisies and sunset tulips that covered

her mother’s old Easter Sunday dress
it was much different,
more like the smell of
a crimson rose,

withering on a tarnished silver tray
on the dining room table
that no one ever uses.



He smelled just like these, but
there was something more
Unfamiliar.

so she stayed when she should have gone home
and leaned against his antique headboard of the bed,
enjoying the contrast of her black jeans
against the cream comforter.
they talked for hours


while she breathed him in.



This will certify That the above work is completely original.





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