Sometimes I saw the depths of the ocean in your eyes,
so I believed you were more
than decorated shorelines
and seashell trails to where we met.
I could hear the crashing waves as I laid against your chest
whispering stories of how your mind searches for open views and calmer waters.
And I felt the grains of sand along your skin
taking me back to the place
where you first told me the sea was your home.
I could smell the breeze of saltwater bodies
as you led me to the edge of your world
where the seafoam met our toes,
but I still tasted the bitterness of your words
when you said you couldn’t give me
what I sensed in you.
Because I admired how your heartbeat changed with the tides,
so I tangled myself in seaweed
and made jewels out of broken seashells
in hopes of syncing my strides with yours.
But I could never hold my breath long enough to reach you.