As a child, I hated sand.

I hated the way it stuck to my feet when I left the water.

The clumps of grain irritated my skin and made my heart beat a little faster than normal--and not in the exciting way.

Stepping into our minivan on the way home from the beach, I would avoid looking at the car floor.

I did not look down because the sight would suffocate me.

Sand gets into every crevice and compartment.

I remember the feeling being itchy.

It felt as though it would never come off.

Now, I love the feeling of sand.

The warmth he brings,

the way he covers my entire body with his.

The way he rubs lightly against my skin, in between my toes, behind my neck, down the small of my back.

Sand makes me smile until my cheeks hurt.

Sand brings memories of the waves.

Sand makes me feel at home.

I play in the sand, and let it spread over my legs.

I lie on top of him.

I grab him whenever I feel the urge to.

I do this because I can, and this liberating feeling is like nothing I have ever experienced before.

As a child, I was scared of the sand.

I would try to rub it off the best I could.

Sand was my nemesis, and I did what I could to avoid it.

But, how could anyone love the beach while hating the sand?

Now, I realize that loving the beach includes loving the sand.

I am infatuated with him.

He is there for me to relax on.

He spills through my fingers, and lingers in the wrinkles of my hands.

I can sleep soundly when I am laying with him.

He is therapeutic,

He calms me and makes me forget about the ugly in the world.

No wonder people can spend hours on the sand.

No wonder some of us can’t help but buy that little bottle of grain from the beach gift shop.

We are just trying to remember the experience,

Trying to remember the good times we had when we were together,

Trying to remember how I feel when I am with him even after we are apart.

It was your birthday when you told me you think you love me.

I asked you to tell me one more time that you loved me.

Just to make sure I heard you right.

When you told me that you think

You love me,

The first thing I thought of was

He is so damn drunk.

As you began to

cry

I began to believe you a little bit more.

But you were drunk,

And that is why you were crying.

Right?

You have seen me cry more times than I am comfortable with.

If it were up to me, you would have never seen me cry.

I hate hearing you shush me as I hyperventilate into you shoulder.

I hate when you have to remind me to breathe whenever my sobs become too powerful.

If it were up to me, you would always see me

happy.

I couldn’t stop staring at you.

I had never seen anything,

Felt anything,

Lived through anything as beautiful and as indescribable

as that moment

when you told me

You loved me.

I told you how beautiful you looked to me in that moment, too,

And you shook your head.

But I was in awe of the way you looked.

So innocent and sweet.

Like I had never seen you before.

In that very moment,

I felt important.

It was like everything I had been doing my whole life,

Every decision

Every fear,

thought

and experience

Lead me to that moment with you.

My eyes never lost sight of you as

I wiped your warm tears away.

My lips slightly parted in surprise when

You told me

you had not cried

In over 5 years.

I am still in shock

Or denial

Or maybe I just don’t believe you

Because I keep having to remind myself of the night

You told me you think you love me.

I am sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you back.

I have never had a boy tell me they loved me.

I didn’t know boys were capable of love,

And I sure as fuck didn’t think

I was capable.

I do not know what love is.

I have never believed in it.

Until now.