Sam,

Today you said that you loved me.

I didn’t say it back, but you knew. Because
when you looked into my eyes, you saw the pale blue sea

stretching

out to the horizon.
The blazing summer sun beat down on our bare backs, and

the sand found its way into the smallest nooks of our swimsuits.

You laid out so that the rays could kiss you into a honey-toned tan,
the waves rushing in to caress you before I chased them back out.

Cotton candy clouds roamed free in the sky; I didn’t want
to come out that day because it was supposed to rain. But
as we watched our troubles evaporate into the mid-July haze,
talking about those sugar-coated dreams and rose-tinted thoughts
we shared, I admitted that you were right to languish in our youth.

And

I think I knew then, knew that when the autumn began rushing in
to steal your warmth, your attention, your love, when you moved to one
coast and when I moved to the other, this - whatever this sweet taste
coating my tongue is - would be left behind. I didn’t care though.

On that day, when I stared at your freckled skin and bubblegum lips,
when the sea breeze blew your silk-strand hair into a frenzied dance,
when your laugh, that full, husky laugh, shook your entire body, I felt
myself drowning, water crashing over my head, forcing me to breathe you in.

And I knew then

that I loved you.