the saddest part about our love is how little you know of my love for the sea.
the salty tastes and rough, brave, water. and the smooth, tiny pieces of washed up wood like around the lakes near home.
the clarity and finesse of the cutting waves, how you can see shadows lurking far out in the deep end,
(if you can stand to look for much longer than a few seconds)
the life under the waves and curling up onto the shore.
how we used to go starfish hunting at four o'clock in the morning before the owners of all the little boutiques would
come along and pick them all up to sell to tourists.
how little you understand about the difference between the lake and the sea.
the green and blue and you, the lover of the land.