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Two friends jumping from a dock to a boat hand-in-hand with a stream of sunlight casted over them on an overcast evening.

Sometimes on those overcast evenings, my friend and I would skip across the harbour to her parents’ boat. Despite the rain, the sun made an appearance, peaking between the grey clouds and casting the waves in pink and sea-green with tips of orange-gold.

Sebastian Molnar smiling at the camera in a black button-up shirt and standing in front of a dance studio.

While Sebastian Molnar was still living in Toronto, he and his buddies took a weekend road trip to Montréal for the city’s annual jazz festival where, at one of the stages, a melodic fusion of jazz and Latin music emanated from the performing band.

An illustration of colourful scribbles surrounding a black silhouette in the centre.

I wanted desperately to fall into myself like girls in romantic comedies are allowed to, let my hair grow greasy and spoon Ben and Jerry’s into my mouth, openly sob to Norah Jones in the living room. But, most real life women don’t have the time to fall apart completely and cinematically.

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