I Think That Summer Loved Her

Eunoia Review

As soon as she escapes the house, she is aware of how the world moves. Her legs carry her forward across the narrow stone stoop in one stride. Her chest is thrust forward, shoulders back, an arm stretched behind her with fingers curled around the lip of the screen door. She holds onto it as her body moves forward, the tips of her fingers burn as the flimsy door swings wide behind her. She feels every ounce of eighty-two pounds resting on the strength in her fingertips. There is a moment of hesitation. In it she rests in the sensation, feeling the weight of herself as it pools in her fingertips and begins to splinter up her wrist before she lets go. When she does, the resistance of the previous moment is dissolved into weightlessness as she swans, graceful into the open.

She lands a foot past the last slanted…

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