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.