Writers begin with a grain of sand, and then create a beach.
From where I live now I can walk to the beach, if I have about three weeks.
You’re right, it is hot,” he says, scanning my body with his eyes.
I wish that love could be broken down the way it breaks me down.
I love walks, hiking, exploring and being on the beach.
I’m tired of justifying why I love someone. I’m done with the explaining.
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I feel like a paper cut just waiting to bleed.
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