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His sweat smells like Benneton
Fresh against the searing sun
I close my eyes and breathe in
The breeze that carries his fleeting aroma

Black currant


Cotton flower



White musk
I can't write...

I have the urge...

this strange feeling

clawing it's way out of my chest

but still...

I can't put it out in words

I stare at the blank page on my computer screen

the cursor blinking impatiently

I type my first sentence... "I can't write..."

— The End —