that I didn’t want to waste it, take anything
for granted
but I wasted much of it anyway
What am I going to say—
that some days I went down to the beach at night
struck to dumbness
by the brilliance of the stars
and I thought the sea would sear some significance onto the face of my soul
but when I went to capture it, I killed it
with common things, like ink and paper and useless words
What am I going to say—
some days, I cried without knowing why
and on others, I breezed past the horrors without blinking
What can I say?
That there was some purpose?
I hardly knew my name some days.
There’s this:
I want to live in the shadows of the creases your eyes make when you smile.
You taste like hope and terror and every disappointment I fear I am.
The stars were so bright until they weren’t; the sun burned away their fragile sparks.
Someday I won’t exist, even as a memory.
The sea will remember me—
will remember how much I felt I belonged to it
yet it never could to me.
