"The Geographical layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other

that we always come up against earlier events in later ones,

not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside,

but absolutely present and alive"

-Bernhard Schlink -

We are slowly building something beautiful, starting at the foundation. But lately, my darling, I feel like the only one who is doing all the heavy lifting. I'm a walking cliche with sore limbs from one summer of sexual harassment and bricklaying.

I was fanning myself with a flashcard of summer. The last sweat of the season; the final drops of salt licking my cheeks and rolling past my chin.

I used to live in a heartbeat city,

I swear I'd fall in love every minute on the street.
You might be walking around the corner
And our eyes might meet.
Where you been darling, darling we've been holding this moment for you.

must be the colors and the kids that keep me alive
'cause the music is boring me to death

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.

Yonder stands your orphan with his gun,
Crying like a fire in the sun.
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.