I found an island in your arms
a country in your eyes

I wrote him a three-page letter and biked out to the beach on a hot autumn day. The air was thick and there were curious crows strutting on the rocky shore. I read that letter out loud in a small, muffled voice - though I wasn't sad. There was a lump in my throat: a pearl that I've been harvesting for the past five years. I tore up that letter into dozens of pieces, thin rectangles and squares stained with my inky-black words. I buried that letter in the sandy grit under layers of grey and crunchy seaweed. I thought about him. I thought about that letter and held a speckled rock. I threw that rock into the ocean and turned my back as the ripples were gently hushed by the incoming tide.