(‘ALYSSA’): NEATH THE HELIOS.

My lucidness commences to occlude with forbidding abstractions: I conjecture if we can ferret out recollections from bygone summers? I want life to be parsimonious. On April 11th, I apprehended a nonessential dolefulness in my quiddity. We're now pioneers, and it seems like the summertime wretchedness is palpable. I’m endeavouring to convalesce during this continuance, seeking mirth in the forecast. 🫀𑣿