for the hot, summer days that she's spent among the gnomes and stolen snitches, for the stormy nights that she's stolen her brothers broomsticks and gone streaking through the windy, velvet sky, for the boys she's kissed behind the woodshed with her overalls falling off her shoulders, and against the stove, smelling of cinnamon buns and grass stains, and on her tiny bed with their legs draped over the sides and well, that would just be the one boy then, wouldn't it? yeah, just the one.

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