sommersend

The Askew is a beach, and we leave footprints in sand, not cement. The tide comes in, the surf washes them away. There will be other people’s footprints later, and there’s something lovely and comforting in that. We leave behind all the things we love, for them.
You crouch to write with a finger in the wet sand. As we walk on, I look back over my shoulder at what you’ve scribbled in the foam.

“You’re going to love this place.”