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Her name is Summer… Or maybe it’s Daisy, or Sunny, or Dawn. And sometimes, when I’m at my darkest, it is Persephone. But when I see her, her mess of golden waves catches the sunlight on even the most overcast of Pittsburgh days, and her laughter floats up to my stone perch like music from the conservatory’s courtyard. So every day, I name her, again and again, after the lightness she brings to my typically foul mood.
