The kids can have the costumes. You and your friends are too busy working towards sugar-induced commas on the couch for a scary movie night.
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Not that bad
Skimming through an old diary you land on page with a memory so clear it might as well be a picture. “Dear Diary, September 7, 2006…he kissed me.”
Dancing it out in the first snowfall of the season because there’s nothing better than wintertime.
They've started counting. You scan the room until your eyes find his. Wanting to be together, you both hurry through the crowd. 3..2..1.. *cue fireworks*
When everyone goes around the table saying they're thankful for the amazing meal you smile internally because you're the one who cooked it.
“All done!” you used to shout to Grandpa, proud that you’d poured all the eggnog without a spill. He’d look down at you with a smile and remind you, “Don’t forget the Nutmeg.”