Sand

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.