This book. I read this book every Summer… It’s become a sort of a tradition of mine.
This Summer is no different… Except it could be. Right now I’m looking at the book in front of me to begin it one more time, and I realize that my expectations are a little bit higher this time. I’m hoping for love. Which is stupid… But I can’t wait for it. So I’m drowning my hopes in literature, rosy, girly, love-is-all-you-need literature.
I’ll even it out with some Carlos Fuentes later.