Let me slam this into the badly written times tables that multiplied off the amount of sorrys we shared on a late night in July. Bash it up against the ocean front with just enough fabric to soak in the soft moments when your eyes rested in mine.  

Cave mouths flooded with fluoride, always leaving a bitter moment of regret. We said we were free spirits. Spirits weighed down by laundry bags full of bad regrets from divided moments we used the wrong side of our brains.

Your hand, it rested on my leg like a bible that has seen too many promises and not enough follow through. While the world sputtered in the wrong, our hearts moved in the right.