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I crave New England summer. I miss the feel of gritty sand on my feet and the icy blue Atlantic  numbing my toes. I miss the smell of the salty ocean, and lighthouses that grace the shore. The word ‘Lobster’ makes my mouth water and I swear I can smell melted butter. I would give anything to slap on a bib, crack into the blood-red shell still warm from the pot and drench the white meat in melted gold. I want to pick blueberries in the woods that taste like the sun and sleep in a hammock. I want to hike in the lush woods to the tops of mountains and swim in their rivers. I want to stroll the cobblestone streets of the harbor towns with an ice cream cone dripping from my hand. I want to speed across the lake yelling until I’m hoarse, and eat dinners of fried seafood and french fries on the boat. I want to sit by a fire in a hoodie while toasting marshmallows to perfection and harmonizing.  I want New England.

I’ve been home once in the year plus I’ve lived in Texas, and I don’t really count that time home because I was there as a maid of honor. It was a hurried affair with one main focus. I have been homesick these past few months. This the first year of my entire life that I have not been in New England for some part of the summer, and it’s breaking my heart. But more than all of these things and a million others, what I miss most of all are the people.

Photograph taken by Anne Hodges

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