And even now I find myself smelling clementine. A Borrowed sense of sweetness washing over me in the air. A Careening force that brings me back to you: A Dancing around checkered picnic blankets, peeling off the grass. An Effort to share each morsel of space and air and moment and Food. The crumbing of muffins. The peeling of an orange. And there I’m Going. I’m back again, hanging, holding, hoping that I’ll be able to keep each sense fresh, Haunting the memories of my mind like a ghost of myself, reimagining the laugh I am sure is yours—I can’t have misremembered yet. I’m sure I know the smell of clementine.
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