IMPORTANT NOTES FROM JUSTIN:
I woke up in her bed again. Everything was fuzzy as I crossed the bridge between asleep and awake—dreaming slowly slipped into the sobriety of the San Francisco day.
I was mostly aware when she walked out of the room. She was gone for only a few minutes and then returned to the warm spot next to me—there wasn't enough time for the heat of her naked body to leave the sheets yet.
Her breath was minty when she kissed me—it smelled of toothpaste and hygiene. I laughed as I tried to kiss her back.
I couldn't compete with her fresh, clean mouth. I felt a little outdone. Ok, I felt a lot outdone.
Her breath smelled like mint and goodness and fairies holding babies in front of sugary sunsets. The air coming from my mouth smelled like I just ate an entire septic tank full of diseased corpses. In late August.
I didn't let that stop me, though.
Using her freckles as a to–do list, I planted kisses all over her face and shoulders like a farmer sows seeds. Each little kiss was like a toilet overflowing onto her skin.
I never wanted to brush my teeth again.
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