The sweet smell of summer salt, from the beach.
I would go there once a year, with only the most understanding of people.
The sunset crimson on the shutter blinds,
darkening the glittering rim where the sky met the sea, and the sea met the sand.
what it would be like to be there alone,
without the laughter,
the cavernous warmth filling my stomach.
I was sure that I could still feel it there if I went on my own,
the way the bed still crawled with phantom hands,
the covers a burrow for the ghosts of those who slept alone,
who slept together,
who slept in a pile, a connection of friends taking refuge,
to stare up at the thunderstorm rain rolling off the skylights.
—By Sofia Catanzaro