We’ll run there. In the dead of night, feet bare and jackets open. We’ll run to the edge.
We won’t hold hands. What, did you think we were in love?
We’ll walk into the salty waters together. The hem of our jeans wet. Our feet too cold to feel the sharp rocks. There is blood, but from where?
This is when you will turn around. You’ll walk away from me. I won’t look back though. Not until your footsteps in the sand have been washed away by the tide.
The moon has never flamed so brilliantly.