the smell of sea-salt
lingers
on the wind, a memory tugs
sort of painful but im grateful for it
somehow.
the bright white restless sand
plucks my eyes
and in the recesses i recall…
the you that doesnt exist anymore
smiling at me
who doesnt exist, anymore.
eight years of wisdom
poured into a sweaty pinky promise
our dog days
in the dead of summer
laid out
on the eternal shore.
大切なことは 言葉にならない?
“how can I ever put what truly matters, into words?”
The-Bleu-Bivouac 
Beautiful!
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