i keep meeting these girls, who remind me of you, and i wish i was seventeen pulling on your toes to wake you up, skipping school to skip rocks on the sea. salty and sticky. stuck together on the wharf like barnacles.
and i miss my dusty old civic. with sand ground into the pedals, scraping the pads of my feet and it feels incredible. driving the length of the sound, turning left and into the woods, past the fresh cut golf course, then another, then another.
spilling out onto the driveway, hot pavement on our bathingsuit bottoms, eating taco bell. and you only ate chalupas. and we would have never moved if your mothers car hadn't rolled in and called you away to sweep the floors.
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