over here,
we are trying.
we are trying to find our “ok” selves.
we are trying.
we are trying to sink into summer
without sinking into
the quicksand of sadness
when we think
about last summer.

every time i go to a beach,
i remember.
when i pass the crepe place,
when i see richmond dairy bar..
when i pass a bingo hall,
when i see the casino,
when i think of the carnival,
the store that used to be McCormacks,
a pack of cigarettes laying on the ground,
red rose tea bags,
a woman with her hair cut,
elvis presley,
when a stranger orders fish and chips.
i see her in my daughter.
i hear her sometimes in my own words.
and i look for her
everywhere.

i hear her laugh,
i feel her here like she is so damn close
that i could get a swat for swearing…
i want to call her, to see her,
to hug her, to save her
i want to fucking save her.
i want to save her.

but i can’t.
and i didn’t.
because you know where i was?

the fucking beach.

(and no matter what the logical
side of my brain will say
my heart will never, ever forgive myself
for that. for that. for that.
who could forgive themselves
for that.)

i don’t write this for forgiveness
or attention or likes.

i write it because i have to
get the words out of me.
because sometimes
i think i might suffocate
in the quicksand.

(logically I know. I know. I know.
but my heart is sometimes
painfully illogical…and broken.)

not what i came here to say..
but this is what seeped out.