On this beach where lies the memories, tangled in between the sea fairies’ wings and hidden between the algae.
I am sitting on a driftwood bench with the Sun
He told me, “i will hang for a while, you seemed lonely”
“Radiant,” the first thing i said to him.
“Thank you, many people seemed to say otherwise,” he replied.
and for a while i sat on a driftwood bench on this beach.
overlooking the black sand all over us, with equally black water on the beyond.
They seemed to be on my toes, my legs, my arms,
Because when wetness meet the rough, it’s just adhesive.
“You are one to live in denial, aren’t you? ,” i opened another conversation
“Well aren’t you too?,” a quick comeback.
He expected a laugh, he did a good job for a light joke there. Too soon. because what i said next was,
“Yea, it’s easier that way.”
He moved closer, offering warmth I’ve longed for.
“I’ve heard of you from my wife, you used to tell her stories. She looked after you even though you didn’t ask as you pestered her with the stories.”
I pulled my wet black hair to the back of my ears, and looked him in the eyes,
“yea, she heard you, she heard every story.”
The thunder hurling from afar, though gray clouds which once were hanging, started to drift apart.
“Never feel lonely. we’re here for you.”
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