At age five she really fancied sunflowers
and wore her bleach-blonde hair in pigtails.
She held her big brother’s hand when crossing the street
and he squeezed her little fingers tight.
She smiled a lot and her mother did too
and they both cried on the first day of kindergarten.
Her daddy loved to scoop her up into his arms
and tickle her tiny little feet.
She showed off her rows of baby teeth
and laughed all the time because she didn’t know
why anyone wouldn’t.

At age eleven she really fancied romance books
and let her honey-colored hair fall in waves.
She missed talking with her older brother
and he tried his best to ignore her.
She sighed a lot and her mother did too
and no one cried when she left for 7th grade.  
Her dad visited less and less
and the divorce took its toll on everyone.
She hated the metal wires across her teeth
and smiled only when she had to
because the world was more confusing
than she originally thought.

At age sixteen she really fancied coffee
and hid her luscious hair in a ponytail.  
She forgot about the days with her brother
and he left for college with barely a goodbye.
She cried a lot and her mother did too
and they both couldn’t wait for graduation.
Her father tried his best to be there when he could
and her feet perched in high black heels.
She had perfect and straight white teeth
and forced her lovely smile onto people
that would never really know
what was brewing inside the summer girl.

Lately I’ve been thinking
about the water,
and the way the waves swallow the sand.
And I’ve been thinking
about affection
and the way one feeds from it –
drinking it in, soaking it up,
and then draining it from their pores.
I’ve come to realize the idiocy that is affection,
and that love is the precious moments
that hide under your pillow.
I’ve been thinking that love is
a facade,
and that the sand may, in fact, swallow the waves.