Letters to June // 04

Throughout the month of June Boshemia will be publishing letters addressed to the most romantic month of the year. This letter is from Maura Reiff.

June,

I am confused by you. How rapid you have approached. With your arrival, you have brought back cerulean skies and blossoms of life. As I walk among the Pittsburgh crowd I feel your embrace again, June. Was it not just February? For February was full of heartbreak chased with tequila gold shots. At first, I was not sure if you would arrive, or for that matter, if I could survive the coldness of this past winter. I can say that I have missed you and am delighted to see you. Thank you for shining your golden light on my Memorial Day kissed shoulders.

Jen Palmer

With bringing the sun along for your thirty day ride, you have brought the thirst of wanting chaos. The chaos that awakens with human contact. My soul begins to lighten and defrost eventually bursting into one million embers with a single look of his. It has led me here on a balmy post Penguin game morning wrapped in a cat hair laced blanket in a bed that, like you June, he fills my soul again. The familiarity of this room puts my mind at ease when I awaken with the sleep still pulling me in and out. Forty minutes later, I peel open my eyes and grab whatever form of hydration is next to the bed to wet my mouth full of drought. Though my eyes are still weary, I see perfectly clear what is next to me. His salted colored hair reflects more in the dark room with the sun trying to break through the black out curtains. I smell his Calico Jack breath as he lightly kisses my shoulder with an arm gently wrapped around the small of my waist. The alarm of the work day breaks the silence and I am back in reality of another June day. My cotton briefs slide smoothly on even though my body is sticky from the early summer morning. I clasp my bra back on and begin to leave the content mold my body has made in the mattress. But I feel his arm stop me. I look down and smile then continue to go about another day. I want another second of his touch. Another minute goes by, and I can hear the cars whiz by on their way to the Liberty Bridge. And I have to leave this moment.

Willie Fineberg

This moment of youth.

This moment of a winning goal.

This moment in the first week of June.

All my love,

M