Your cheeks turn brown in the late season, belying the October truths as they fall from the trees, but in your chest you have bought yourself another month before you go under. We run a long trail to northern beaches, past the obscene villas, I feel my muscles strain and remember who they are. I begin to think the same of myself. The warmer days lead to quiet evenings, I squander valuable minutes in the inertia of regular people, is this what it means to live a life? I had been hoping for more. It's possible life is saying the same about me.
We go to bed early. I lie in the oddly decorated leftover bedroom listening to crashing waves and cicadas outside the window, is that not the gift in its entirety? To have the ocean at your very doorstep.
Remember this, when your head fills with cotton again. The sea will heal you when you are not paying attention.
You can make real the wishes that you never even dared speak.
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