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letter to July

Dear July,

I confess: you have surprised me. I never thought much of you before, not really. I always enjoyed your 4th of July Fireworks and barbecues but for so much of my young life you were unbearable. I always thought you burned with something like anger or revenge. Certainly you weren't jealous of June and all her weddings, the love, the joy, the pomp and circumstance. The blistering of your days remains harsh and violent in my memory and on my skin, much too fair for your temperment. But this year in the state of Illinois, the state in which I reside and learn and love, you have been an unlikely companion of mine. You have been pleasant and kind, cool and breezy as if you have no cares in the world. I suppose there is great deal of pressure on you, July, especially as you represent the nation's birthday and independence all in one. And I imagine such stress can make you, well, bitter. But these late days bear no resemblance to such emotions.

I am grateful that you have made such progress. I do not know if you are in therapy or have finally just relaxed on your own. But whatever it is, has been, for me and my love, blissful. And though I wish these revelations had come sooner, like while my air conditioning was broken, I am grateful for the turnaround.

July, I am impressed. Perhaps I should follow your lead with my own letting go. I no longer hold your past against you. Instead, you are an inspiration for change. Anything is possible, July. If you can bring about long, soothing nights of discovery and conversation, I know there is hope.