I’m watching a man, with shiny black
loafers in his hands—searching for something in the sand. I pull the knots out
of my hair and ask him what he’s looking for. His eyelids are spotted purple. His
heart is burning out like rain hits a candle. The man takes off his glasses
breathing two heavy, and foggy breaths in the lenses.
I cup my hand like a visor to see the
man with his gray dress pants rolled up. “I have everything, but I don’t have
love” he said, still searching.
I get quiet and breathe only through my
nose. My head hangs down like it’s on a noose and my hair draws curtains to
shade the bright world. I hear the wave’s war and the kites gargling the air. My
heels hit something cold and I dig to find a stone. I push the stone deep in my
palm like it’s a limitless cave.
The man asks to sit next to me and
places his loafers next to him. We look over to find a blonde boy with a carton
of oil paints dangling from his arm. The man stretches out his legs while I
start crossing mine.
The blonde boy dumps all the orange
paint he had in the murky lake water. The man’s body stands still like he’s
been injected with patience. His eyes spin into a galaxy like perception from
the mysterious drug.
The orange is swimming in and out of the
intentional waves. The only thing I can hear now is the man’s heartbeat
changing into a safe sound. The sun melts in the pool of orange and disappears
like lovers hands fit together. The man closes his eyes and life blows a kiss
goodbye.
I shed a tear as the wind blows enough
sand to cover his body. I look up and the boy is gone. I place the stone in one
of the shiny black loafers—the stone says, beloved.
