This is for the slow, steady arrival of summer and the smell of May. This is for when summer arrives, lovely, loose, tangled and weightless like the crumpled sheets beneath your toes. These are the books you toss carelessly that end up somewhere in between pillowcases and nightstands. Strawberries bleeding red on your fingertips and the freedom that lies in the hazy light at ten o'clock on a Wedensday morning. This is easier.

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