I’ve been putting pen to paper lately and writing to myself. It feels like quietly tapping away at the rock built up around my soul; a careful excavation.

We go fossil hunting. He breaks a part the slate and finds the imprint of seashells. The tiny stamp of history. A promise of life.

I tell him I was promised dinosaur bones and he chases me through the sand, our feet clutching black rocks and jumping nimbly over puddles.

It’s easy like this, falling to the ground, our legs entwined. Writing love poems on the back of smooth rocks. His head on my chest and my lips in his hair.

A picture of us smiling in the sun.

Proof we were here.


6 thoughts on “Proof”

  1. “His head on my chest and my lips in his hair.”

    I like that. It’s different than the norm – so often is the woman supposed to be embraced by the man. Nice touch.

  2. From once having these kinds of feelings in my life I feel like I understand what is going on here.

    From not having them anymore, I understand how these feelings are this poetic.

    Proof I was human once.

    Thanks for this. It’s been a wakeup call.

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