Our horizon residence forfeited to sunrise. I knew once it was bright enough, I would never see him again.
I curled my toes in the sand. I swayed to the left, to the right – slowly. He couldn’t see me in the darkness.
He still knew I was listening.
The two of us heard… the same purpose. Things reached him in another way. Sound was always the sense to penetrate my pulse. Sound is an earliest lesson I recall, attempting to perceive the unseen.
There are things I heard when I first saw him. Ocean waves and church bells.
My eyes extend through sheets of indigo-violet and some frayed orange bands amongst a few dripping stars. I want to say goodbye. I am angry.
I don’t want him to see me like this.
Light doesn’t usually make me nervous. I never put a lot of thought toward its connotation until now.
There are pairs of everything in our residence, neither one of us own a thing. Used to be each other.
Funny how things change.