- Vol. 04
- Chapter 12
Postcard to Nowhere
The man I love is standing by the sink: he’s tired of his beard.
The shaving foam is floating over the waves; as the water is driving itself back to the shore it belongs to.
The sand from my grandfather’s garden – and the teal sky is from the day when we were catching clouds.
Me, in the lime green bikini which currently lies curled up in the attic, which I could never bring myself to throw.
Lying over the yoga mat from back in sixth grade, hiding in yet another space, which I only ever see in glimpses.
The sun is falling with the strength of the home, yet the gentleness of the house, and I realise: I’ll miss this.
I make these things up in my head: I need a photo to call home.