08/17/2026
It was the summer of ripe mangoes and squishy figs, my kids on scooters, red, black and white flags everywhere, of walking unsure to the train station and leaving Brooklyn in a car overlooking the skyline, smile on my face, of flying home to my kids knowing what it feels like to miss them, of tan lines and pulsing in our squats, of long car rides and flying on water. The summer I learned gratitude, and how it feels to have a whole heart again. Of crazy sunsets, of unexpected sparks, like falling in love with a new book that landed in your hands right before a long flight. Of missed trains for better ones coming. Of knowing I’ll forever love my mother, the sound of her voice soothing my nervous system. The summer where words flowed, my voice strong, the relentless shadow following me slowly departing. The summer of perfectly made mocha iced lattes, of new friends, airplane rides at 3 am in the rain with little hands and big eyes staring at me like I am the whole world.
It was a summer of large pomegranate trees in a house I grew up in that I barely remember, of wishing I could call you again, you, who I was named after and the summer that I smiled as I thought of you watching me make bad decisions, the summer that I believed we will all be okay because by some miracle, you are there, promising me that we will. It was also the summer I said no, no more, because we’re precious gems as I held her hand and we walked with matching sparkly headbands and sang songs late at night and I remembered— warrior princesses don’t cry over unreliability masquerading as chivalry, so we burned that s**t to the ground and danced over its burnt ashes under a bright full moon with spicy drinks in our hands and smiles on our matching lip-glossed faces. Because she is me, and I am you, and that is the only promise I’ll ever need.
— beautifully attached