Wet Hair


You couldn’t hold on to him for any longer than a weekend. Having a cup of coffee with him was a kind of paradise. You smiled at him and thought that he would be loyal for as long as he lived. He was a king and you were a gate of the east side of his kingdom. You both drove through trees that were leaning to the west from standing in the face of too much wind. The waitress offered them a glass of iced water until their royalty washed off. And they sipped on their drinks until the end of the season. Caution! “The content is hot,” she was clueless. 

He couldn’t love her for more than a day; a summer day long relationship. She needed her pills and her therapy sessions. “Have i told you that i love the taste of seawater?” I could endlessly swim in the sea without needing to ever leave. 

He charmed her with his fascination of the world. He wrote stories about people that he would never meet or know. They were surrounded by souls that only knew how to celebrate anything but their lives. They danced endlessly all night till their feet were burning. 

I still have the sweater that i wore that night and i still had bruises on my body from rolling around on the floors. I have sand in my socks and in my hair. My coffee was still warm and drinkable and the sun was out for another couple of days. If you’d open the window, you would see a planned error of nature waiting to interfere. I’ll sit here and wait. I’ll play with the waves every morning. I won’t care about the sand and I won’t leave the shore.

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