February 22nd 

I’ve been thinking of you since last Tuesday. I thought of picking my pen and writing something. I couldn’t. It would’ve been so definite and I still feel you around. 

I feel your precense when I light a cigarette, thinking how stupid I am. 

I think of you when I’m longing the beach, wanting the escape the hassle of this mad city. 

I think of you when you ran off to the shore, weeks before you were gone. 

The beach. We used to love the beach. I’d be playing in the sand and you’d be tanning your already leathery skin. 

I would moan for us to get in the water and you would stretch it until you felt the sun piercing your back.

I miss those days you know. Those days where the sand and salt embraced our bodies. Those days where the wind blew softly upon our skins. 

The city. I remember, when we were back in the city; you were so frail. Your skin no longer tanned. Your skin, stained by the air. 

Your eyes so scared, so anxious to quit, as they faded to the blue of that hospital chair. 

The beach.

I miss the beach, where the fear of drowning was not as big. 

I miss the beach. 

I miss you. 


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