I was a child, then. When a stormy sea filled the air with hope, and salt. And there were hills to climb, to sit with you at the very top, in silent darkness. Where we held our breath and lied to ourselves, about what was wrong or right.
The years passed us by. On that hill beside the ocean, where we consummated our long-awaited desires, and I felt sparkles on your lips; The same hill under which I found my reflection in a muddy pool of water. The grass beside it was so fine, and so green.
A park bench at the top of a sunset hike through the native valley, in full bloomβwildflowers reflected our openness. Sandpapery stubble on your cheeks matched the texture between my thighs, which I kept only for you and nobody else.
The day I knew you would never be back, the empty voicemail box, the repetition in rising each morning, without you.