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sand has a smell.

it smells like the kind of tired you get after running around all day, looking for adventures, burying treasures. being chased around the block by that boy with the temper, the one you just can’t stop poking because he makes it so easy and he thinks girls are good for nothing. he never ever catches you, you’re faster than the wind. it smells like the kind of tired the sun gets in the afternoon, the lazy orange, soft and indulgent. it smells like hearing the red car pull up, like half past four, like climbing into the back seat and going home.

(it smells like silence, and like waiting, and like change. it runs through your fingers like water and it tastes like thirst. it smells like a forge, and like a refuge. endless skies and distant horizons. fear is the mind-killer.)

it sticks to your skin.