By Koushiki
You turn over on your back, seeking heat like a half-done steak. The sun glares; sand prickles my thighs. The air, heavy with your musky aftershave, cocoons me in its heady embrace. You always worked better than sleeping pills.
I found your letter last night, scattered somewhere in the space between us, bigger than three continents, smaller than the snow globe you gave me last Christmas. “Who plans a vacation to break up?” I type and hit backspace in my girl group chat.
I am breathing you after six months. I close my eyes and wait for the waves to break.
Beautiful & moving.