We laid out on the sand,
the ocean unseen in the dark but
endlessly crashing in the near distance.
I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine it
encroaching and receding.
We stared up at the stars,
tried to trace the lines between them,
make connections, make sense.
In the dark, there are more stars.
I’ve never been good
at recognizing constellations,
but I’m starting to realize that
maybe, its not my fault,
that my trouble is rooted in the fact
that the ancients couldn’t draw.
I see a thousand shapes in the sky,
but never their shapes,
never the lines they saw.
I can connect one to the next,
but somehow, it never turns out right.
And even with the blanket pulled tight,
and all the ends tucked in,
the cold air still swept through us,
seeped in. We held each other,
knowing that when we stood to leave,
it would be that much colder,
and so we stayed, but eventually
we had to go anyways, and so
we ran across the chilled sand,
the soles of our feet
not quite numb enough not to feel.
And as we drove away,
I counted the yellow dashes in the road
and they all formed a dotted line
leading us away.

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