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I have a cousin who’s only a few months older than me, and every summer, growing up, I would look forward to her visits. She came up to my town to visit her grandmother, who wasn’t my grandmother. I adored her and we got along really well, but our time together was always limited by her other familial obligations.

The picture linked above reminds me of long summer days we used to spend sprawled out companionably on my parents big bed, reading quietly together. We read to ourselves totally different books, but somehow it was blissfully fun. Every now and again we would share a passage or comment on what we were reading, but it was enough just to be together, reading.

Moments like those will always be crystallized in my memory.