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Sep 2018
Antiqued and covered with specks of dust
It sits across the room
Calling childhood memories
Of my mothers plush bedroom.

Its emerald green
Just as my birthstone
A pewter garden surrounds
It's round shape.

I encompass it in my hand
Tracing my fingers over its line work
Stopping on its dull vines and butterflies

I slowly unscrew the cap
that could use a little spit shine
Gently, I bring it to my nose
Bracing myself for the deep inhale.

I pull in that buried smell
From the glass bottle
Letting it tickle my nostrils
While broadening my shoulders.

I am taken back to a different time.
A time of moths in closets
Brooches on wool jackets
And curlers in hair.
HLK
Written by
HLK  24/F/Minnesota
(24/F/Minnesota)   
148
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