Then it was summer; then it was autumn. All the while I've written you letters in my head. Honesty, not artifice; sincere and nothing saccharine; the world itself and no mirrors distorting or brightening.
Then it was August and I caught my breath on the threshold, turning back to face the sea. Then it was September and kernels pushed into sandy earth had made rows seven feet high. Then it was October and a common park reaffirmed a sentiment I had begun to question. Then it was today and I stopped for a moment. I still have more to share.