Please be kind. I mean it. I'm meeting you once again ever so slightly bruised and almost barely willing, but I know that's what you do best. You've already marked me with freckles and blisters and ten million stories - each one begging for attention. Tip-toeing into your sponge-month days was hopelessly ineffective because you seem to be more interested in brimming and teeming and other various forms of overflow. But ridle me this, July, how do you balance the abundance and defeat that fill each of your days? Teach me. Every encounter is singed with your sunshine and heat; good and evil. You give more hours to wonder and more chances to chase. I'm not trying to point fingers, July, but you make it slightly difficult to keep up. I'll forgive the offense, if you promise to leave me stronger.
All my love x
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