Cold Days

Like this call for us to go to the beach.
And you’ll bring a soccer ball and I’ll sit in the wet sand and watch you do hat tricks.
My hair will be blown into knots and my cheeks will burn from smiling at you
As waves churn
And my heart turns
In my chest.
And the sea salted air will steal every laugh that escapes my lips and you will collapse on the dunes in pure bliss
Though you never were one for the beach.
And our jeans will be caked with sand and
Our initials will be written near the water’s edge
Not in a heart
Don’t worry, I didn’t forget
About her
About you.
Just let me continue to paint this adventure in my head.
With gray clouds above
And gulls’ cries mixing with each crash of the watery abyss they call an ocean
And maybe rain will fall
And pellet the sand with tiny holes and
Maybe we’ll run or maybe we’ll stay until we are absolutely wet…
And there is nothing left
Absolutely nothing left,
But patterns in the sand
Tension in the air
And our initials being scraped off the shore
Like leftover crumbs from bread on the table.
If only you were able to understand that
The noise I hear is not white
Or rhythmic
And that
Every lapping of the water against the shore,
Is echoing my heart beat as I watch you rise from the sand
Wanting
More
More
More.

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