literature

Life on the Shores

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Literature Text

I felt you faded, felt you washed up on my shores. There we sat, you choking up salt and me staring at the sunset. All purple and orange and blue. Our toes in the sand, touching and grazing at shells and rocks and feeling the breeze nip at the wetness. It was under my fingernails and at the tip of my tongue. I wondered vaguely how far the sand had gone up my shorts, whether it was caking my hair and lining my ear canal. Checking would only make the damage worse.

"I'm happier as friends," You said. And I felt my chest deflate, felt myself taking in water and sinking in a ball to where the seaweed and man-of-war lived. I could feel the waves pounding against my skull, the truth washing my rocks into splinters. I knew you were right. The kissing was unnatural, the sex was forced, the awkward smack of limbs against limbs. As much as I loved to trail my fingers across your pale skin, watch it stretch and pull to my padded splendor, the obvious fact remained: I would get over you. Soon I would walk this beach alone and hum songs to myself, feeling the summer heat and the weight compress my legs as I stumble along. Soon it would stop mattering.

I stared into the sun, let it burn into my vision. I didn't want soon to come, didn't want to let go. You were still on my shores, still watching the boats and the buoys and the bobbing teenagers in bikinis. And then you were gone, sucked back by the current, dragging every castle we'd ever made back with you into the deep. Just sand against my body, rocks as broken and hopeless as I was.
How excited am I for Florida without you? Let me think.
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