“IN EARLY JUNE THE WORLD OF LEAF AND BLADE AND FLOWERS EXPLODES, AND EVERY SUNSET IS DIFFERENT.”
— John Steinbeck
I’m not feeling particularly poetic today. My prose will render itself exhausted of all lyrical possibility, as my mind is utterly ravaged from the ceaseless beating of That-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named. It was a beautiful and glorious day, and the physical embodiment of such promise and warmth is a stark contrast to the brutal mental exercise that has occupied my world for months.
June. A year later and still I wander adrift, but perhaps with more purpose and direction. I’m thankful, so thankful, for the path I’ve traveled and the encounters I’ve been fortunate to experience along the way. I feel so incredibly lucky to have such bright and passionate friends who support me — and especially, for expressing the voice of reason when I become overloaded with irrational sensibilities, which is almost always the case. I feel lucky to embark on adventures of leisure, and to carelessly indulge my fantasies of a twenty-something.
June, June, June. So full of opportunity, of promise, and brimming with passion.