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Oct 2014
His** smell. I could never define it properly. You never can, with scents. There are never words to describe them floating in the air after a rainstorm, nor the smell of a freshly cut grass, onΒ a warm summer's day.

His scent wasΒ dark and musky: the shadows of an expensive aftershave, cigarettes burning slowly, the smell of home gliding on his skin.

Those, and a thousand other things I could never place my finger upon. It all combined to make up Him. The most comforting smell in the world
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