Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.

My teeth chatter morse code, a long, repetitive
message to myself, saying, oh-so-spitefully,
"You're a silly girl, you shouldn't be so hopeful"

It takes me back to when there was an endless
ocean and I was only a small child, I have a
faded photo of my sister and I, running in the brine.

She's wearing orange, I vaugely remember the lines,
the lines from her sunburn, zig-zagging across her back,
her teeth chattering as we sat in the cold hotel room.

My hair is sticking to my face, and, I look so happy.
I remember that we had Whataburger and I,
I threw my fries at the seagulls in childish amazement.

It was also the first time I had Whataburger,
which, to my pleasure, was much better than
McDonalds' greasy food.

We were so young, so god-forsakenly happy,
I have my arms raised, kicking water up,
as my sister runs away, squealing.

I attempted to build a massive sand castle that day,
but it came out looking like a bunch of lumps in the sand,
so I resigned myself to digging a hole to China.

I don't recall the ride there, but the ride back,
the ride back was antagonizing.
Sunburnt and tired, my sister and I cried.

I being the latter, was just tired, my sister,
was blistered to the extent where she
couldn't lean back comfortably.

Last summer I went to the beach with a friend.
He drove forever, I snoozing in the passenger seat
as the sun rose up from under the earth.

We spent the day there, I falling asleep under the umbrella,
only to wake later to find the sun had moved and my feet,
my poor feet had been burnt to a crisp.

Somehow, we found this funny.
On the way home, he bought me Whataburger,
my feet propped up on the dash of his Jeep.

He wanted to take me during December,
but I told him no, the ocean isn't cold,
that the ocean is only full of warm memories.

He laughed and gave me a polaroid of us sitting the umbrella.
Bribed a little kid with candy and three dollars,
to take a photo I had forgotten.

It's framed on my dresser, a small photo of us grinning like idiots,
me pushing my sunglasses up slightly, a middle finger apparent,
my hair mussed and salty from the breeze.

He's sitting there clinging to me like a fool,
dripping wet from the disgustingly polluted water
that we call the ocean, sticking his tongue out.

My teeth are telling me it's time to go.
The weather today was too cold,
I'm wearing my fuzzy socks.

- . - - - . - . . . .
(Noah)