we ran along the beach wearing only necklaces of seaweed. planned to move to hawaii, build a treehouse home, raise nature children and live on love. he tried, but couldn't teach me to surf. then that summer was over.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
Perfectly bittersweet.
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