Quietly, small, alone
I stand at the edge of this embankment
Losing my shadow in the shuffle of sun-tanned feet
That pad along the pier.
I’m in Santa Monica,
And I don’t know where you are—
But you’re not here with me.
And even as I look around and absorb
The sights, the sounds, the smells, the people
My heart lags behind;
It’s too heavy
Clearly I’m a tourist here—
I’m in jeans and a jacket;
Everyone else is in bathing suits and flip-flops.
I’m out of my element.
I don’t belong.
I walk slowly,
Gingerly dipping my toes into the icy waves
And I resist the temptation to write your name in the sand;
To watch the waves erase you would simply be too much.
Home is on the other side of that mountain;
And it’s time for me to go.
How many times can two people fall apart
And glue themselves back together
Before their lives become