air

                           

Each year, around this time I begin to crave the Virgin Suicides. I've read the novel numerous times, and will always adore it, but there is also something about the dreamy, airy quality of the film that seems to invite itself  into my life come spring. Perhaps it's the notebooks filled with scribbles, coded record phone calls, suntanning on front lawns,  homemade floor length florals, windblown hair and platform sandals that draw me in. Though I love the romantic aesthetic of the novel and film, it's a world I can only take in small doses, once a year when I feel the urge to shed my winter wools and layers.