Nostalgic perfume.

He’ll turn up Harvest Moon, playing it like it’s 1972 and I’ll know that it’s gonna be one of those nights: the nights that are ours, our way, our wild—I love how we do nights, we do them well, it’s our thing—leaving the dishes sprawled across our silver benches (even though it irks us, equally) because we know that the evening silence is more important to us right now; and, after talking about all the wonderful & impossible things, we lay to sleep & you whisper, “I love us”...drifting to other lands as we lay in the dust of harvest moon melodies, we fall asleep.

The songs that are flying high and burning their notes into the ceiling of our home will one day burn the walls of our hearts, affectionately—

Nostalgic perfume.

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Tess Guinery