We were peering over stone walls with Gatsby to our backs. The waves collided with granite, or I think it was granite, I wasn’t paying attention because my eyes only alternated between you and the cave below, with shadows of purple, ranging from Naples Sunset to Rock Harbor Violet.
The hydrangeas tickled our arms as we leaned further, joking about hitting the water. Or I think they were hydrangeas, I don’t know my flowers and my arms were alternating between the coldness of the shaded stone and the heat of your skin brushing mine.
It was an ocean but I treated it as God’s wishing well, and I wished we would come here again, only there would be spring lilacs because it would be March. Or I think they would be, I don’t know, my mind is alternating between this idea, and the fantasy of being yours forever.