I'd like to think that I loathe you
as much as I miss you,
but the seesaw always seem to favor one side or the other.
I remember the days you'd go off to the beach,
searching for sea shells
and counting your findings
blowing your smoke
and wasting our earnings,
I always knew there were cracks
in you and my fathers lovely cliche
but I never knew the sea current
was strong enough to wash our sandcastles away.
I turn my back from you
and stretch my arms
as it becomes apparent
that I've always disliked the feeling of sand in my shoes,
and I've never enjoyed the cold air of the beach,
and building sand castles
has never appealed to me.