The sky is a rage of gray. She looks at me, eyes blue as the sea. Laughing. The whoosh of a seagulls wings and she is gone. Carried by the winds of time like a grain of sand.
I sit on the beach, long grasses brushing my ankles. It is beautiful yet, bleak. The water is a moving reflection of the sky. Clouds mix with seafoam. The waves look sharp against the blurry orange horizon.
I chew on an under ripe watermelon, which appears more faded salmon than red. The pale liquid drips down my chin, leaving splotches on the sand. The black seeds spit from my mouth like flaming torpedoes.
The green striped rind gets tossed into the cresting waves. Wiping away sour tears I trudge up the empty shoreline. Leaving footsteps to be washed away.