It comes and goes,
the time we spent wearing hardly any clothes.
Smelling of cigarettes and peach perfume.
Long hair in tangles from night swims,
and tired tongues from talking for hours under blistering sun.

Midnight moons, waves hitting dunes,
and spending everyday with you.
It comes and goes, and these feelings will fade,
like the taste of peach marmalade on our tongues.

We flow like rivers coursing through the valleys of time.
Flow on, no time for rapids to rewind.

I am,
Truly.
Nothing,
It means.
Say it,
I won’t.
Leave,
I’ll go.
“Goodbye”
I’ll say,
But I won’t say that I am ...