Florida weather, she gasped, in ninety percent humidity and unusual heat, and our bodies were sticky as we left the dance floor for a breath of air. At the back of the boat, the sky was turning pink, and I couldn't get myself to stay. I started walking west, and before I was halfway home, the street lights turned off. I turned around to see dawn rise in the distance, over the statue of the sailor's wife, perpetually staring out to sea, her skirts forever blowing in the wind. We all long in vain. The breeze from the sea broke the heat, felt like home. The bridge is being repaired, and all its lights were out.
The walk took hours, I think, it never ended and yet I never stopped. My phone buzzed with illicit invitations to underground clubs I had forgotten, thrilled veins longed to go, but your words kept me company all the way home and I unlocked the door to a moment to myself. My head spins with stories of hearts broken, hearts melded, my own beats wildly and refuses to sleep.
How many times can I visit these streets, indulge in the obsession of home, before they lose their magic? The air smells of roses, of elder flowers and jasmine, but behind clouds, the sun never rises. I rinse the night off my skin, I hear your voice again. Hold on to words; when all the rest is washed away, only ink will remain.
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