We met on midsummer night’s eve. We tried new places then; new drinks, new thoughts and as the contours of the night blurred, everywhere and everything merged into you. I walked home alone, as the fragrant night spiralled into a fiery dawn - the morning dew fresh underneath my feet, with the promise to take you to the beach, still echoing in the brittle light.
Do you remember?
I waited two weeks before I called you, and you still picked up on the first ring.
We walked through the park to get to where we were going. We may have stopped on the way; I don’t remember, but we made it just in time for dusk. You kissed me there for the first time by the water, and while the waves crashed I realised I was on fire under your hands. I remember my breath catching in my chest, my racing heart and white sand in my hair and on my skin - like a thin film of tiny silver beads reflecting in the cascading sunset.
Can you still see the ocean where you are?
