Dead flowers for the torn apartThis morning I found a bent fork sticking out of the grass on my walk and I felt the familiar sting behind my eyes but I persevered and came home intact instead of red-faced, out of breath, drowned from the inside out. I came home weirdly content because the cool breezy air and the smell of rain means fall to me. Not pumpkin spice latte fall because gross. Too sweet. But fall as in soon all the beaches will be clear of people and I can venture back out.
Laid at the grave to heal a broken heart
Let it rain until it floods
Let the sun breathe life once more
Reborn
I always have so many questions if we go to a beach that isn't ours, like how can you people just lay out in the broiling sun like that? And how tanned do you want to get? Aren't you hot? Don't you mind being stared at? How does it feel to know fully half of this public sand is garbage and cigarette butts? And the biggest one of all, don't you wish you had your own beach like I do?
But the boys tell me those questions are really rude and ignorant and God, why don't you have a filter any more, Bridget?
Oh, that old thing? I burned it with Cole.
I haven't needed it since. Those who can't handle me don't stick around.
Right, Lochlan?
Exactly, Bridget.
After lunch I stood holding my fork, staring at it with every ounce of concentration I could muster, failing to notice Sam watching me.
Jake's not going to bend this one, sorry, Princess.
Maybe I can do it.
No, those times he actually was doing it and made you think you were. He fancied himself a magician too, you know.
I smiled in spite of myself. He did. It was very sweet to watch his simple illusions because they were never done for money or for food. They never paid our way or made the news. They were just sweet. That's all. Sweet and really badly done, honestly.