The scorching sun, perturbed tidal waves beat like marching drums across the horizon. Leaf-lace, bottle bits, open wounds — newfound discoveries. This is the summer song, a cadet’s call for a voyage towards ubiquity. Yet the soldier is always so fragile — and home was never quite red brick and polished acacia floors; but the barefoot tread into the entrenches of a million little blades culling themselves in the midnight breeze. I feel like our rooftop was always meant to be the broad expanse of a million glowing torches, floating and beaming in little stardust trails. We find them so enticing we mouth little sounds and depress chapbooks with intonations until we find them tranquil enough to deem them as the ‘galaxies’; and in this way the solstice was born. An army spread about a million little shrivels of greenery stare at the droplets tracing their skin – they fall in love with the way their spine tingles at the ray’s fluid kisses; how the breeze comes every now and then and how the sky never seems to darken or give in. Summer is born and in its very birth it has been condemned to die.
Author: Chia
Still
In all honesty; as much as I love to write and conjure words with the wand of only pen and paper — I barely read. This was an exception, for the first time in a long time. I was looking for something to relate to, something real and raw – a type that we often yearn for in books but never find, after all — they’re all fantasies, things to long for, to desire — when I wanted something that I could see myself in. Through my search, I had discovered Hold Still by Nina Lacour, and despite going into it without a single amount of hope nor expectation, I came out with a desire to share this book with others. Imperfect and utterly flawed yet powerful and emotional, it stirs something inside of you with how its written and carefully handcrafted.
Described as a riveting tale of a teenage girl dealing with the loss of her friend; the discovery of a journal, the remorse and guilt that comes with it as well as the healing process — this book, although far from perfect was exceedingly real. That is what I look for in pieces of writing, and that is what I love.