The summer is fecund, moist, sparkling, heartbreakingly pleasurable. Conquest that is double edged, defeat that is welcome. My time is my time, how many can say that? I am at the edge of something wonderful and terrifying. I am hesitant, exhausted, exhilarated, stubborn and yielding. A shout that reverberates throughout. A struggle, a foolish venture, a sacred inevitable affectionate return. A letting go. My willingness, my innocent heart, fluctuates like sunlight under leaves that becomes cool water flowing below in the constant river of time.

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