A cracked window – paint peeling on its sill – that
breathes summer air into a room. The world smells of the peak of a suburban
summer: grass and gardenias, oil on hot pavement, algae, dust, and weed killer.
The humidity is a balm, time a breath that’s held, the line between adolescent
dreams and sparkling future reality so joyously blurred she can taste the hope
on her tongue. Behind her, she hears his fingers on the guitar strings and
thinks he can taste hope too, even if he won’t admit it.
Pretty picture and pretty words!!!
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