Rebel yell....

A table full of boys and awkward pauses. I escaped with some b-rate bitch beer, quickly followed by cheap wine. Feeling buzzed, Tracey offered up a walk...with medicinal benefits; I, of course, took part. The night melted into controlled chaos, and my mind drifted towards home, to the Pacific, to your face. I got my hair cut the other day, and from the stall next to me, wafted a familiar smell. Head and Shoulders? Probably not, but close enough; I breathed deep and swift, hoping the scent would carry me somewhere else; a place where the pavement welcomes my heavy heart and light step, where your arms are the only place I can fall into. I miss you in the strangest times; while watching buskers crammed in doorways, while sipping cider by the shore....That day, Tracey succumbed to the lull of the hot sun, but I needed to be in the ocean. It had been so long. I waded into the Atlantic, feeling the current resist my intruding limbs, letting the cold sink deep into my flesh. Just the other day, someone had died at this beach. I pushed that out of my mind and let the enourmous waves swallow me whole and drag me back towards the sand. There is only hints of beauty here, and nothing else. Salt-water for blood, sea air in my lungs. I couldn't live here for very long. I miss your lips parting in welcome, your eyes disguising your soul.


Two more days.





"You know you gotta help me out, don't you put me on the back burner."
-The Killers