Spread the confetti of foreign coins and stolen seashells to make it look appealing. Exotic. White sand spills in hidden seashell cracks. Shores which can never be forever when we wake. Friends who shared my waking dreams, they have their loves to return – or take – back with them. How can I, with a heart that lies ahead?
I have shiny coins, chipping seashells, and memories of trying not to love you.
Ever notice shells lose their shine? My bruised and blushing shades, my tiny spells of subtle color, they have fallen flat. I think of crying, but would rather dream.