sunday six: each sunday, post six (a little over six???) sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.
odesta au
You can hear her laughing quietly as she digs her toes into the wet clumps of sand. It feels almost like returning to an old memory. Like reliving an old photograph. The grains on your feet, the smell of seaweed, the white foam of the shore. The ocean stretching past, as unruled as ever, and you feel safe sitting next to something that’ll outlive you. Not even the Capitol can catch the horizon after all.
“The ocean missed you,” she says out of nowhere.
The wind hurries, carrying the salt to you both. You close your eyes, taste home on your tongue, and allow the ocean to breathe millennia of its life on your face.
Well, I’m back now, you say, and for once it doesn’t sound like a lie.
