our eyes were fogged with farewells marking territories down our cheeks. the ache felt like salt at the edge of my throat and i was afraid to say it loud before you said the ocean kissed your taste buds. we both knew then.
we just knew.
maps tore apart and our paper walls built with just enough faith to last three decades broken into our salt-bitten souls. it's been too long since we've been hurt with the blue of the sky and you are not the ache in my bones when he says something i want to hear; you're the salt crusts between my fingers when i try to remember the pain i haven't really felt.
when i coughed up latitudes and minutes on to the shore, i swore i thought i was finally corporeal -- finally able to call reality dormant for all these years but i still felt transparent. my hand still slipped right through you. no warmth, no breaths, no you.
you were not here.
you were the flutter in my chest right before it grew wings, and you were the wails of the ocean when i finally broke us free. when i finally broke us free, you were the ache of the waves as they fell to their doom after crashing against a too-hardened enemy. you knew you couldn't move mountains but you were always sure you moved me.
we're no different than the salt being circulated in every ocean. we're quite similar to the blinding shine of the sunrise on the sea's skin. we've always been water-hymns for the sirens we've never seen. our story breaks with dawn everyday, dissolves our salty aches and sweeps our remains with the call of the tide.