"I just don't love it anymore," you said,
snatching up a shell from the damp sand.
You threw it into the water and it sank
into the darkness.
"I just don't think it's beautiful."
What about the stories of childish dreams?
The feel of it's mist on your forehead
when demons lit a fire in your mind?
the way you ran your fingers along it's edge
and the way you sank into it's arms
and floated far away?
"I just don't love it anymore," you said,
as I stood in front of you on the edge of the ocean,
salt on my cheeks and sea glass in my chest.
salt on my cheeks and sea glass in my chest.
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