She smells like perfume, like warmth and make up and she rubs my back to wake me up for school. It's warm, the blankets, the sheets, the pillow against my cheek and I don't want to leave. It's cold outside, in the fall, in the school, in my shoes and in my dress. I can hear the blow dryer, the vroom of it. My mother's hair is curly it use to be
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