I literally just wrote this in an hour. It came really fast, is ill-edited, and also having been written at 12.34 at night (morning??) I lack the judgement to tell if this is shit or not haha. That said, enjoy this randomness!
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8:57.
Throwing gold from far view where purple started to ascend from thick bushy treetops. And it stretches, like a child to their mother, yearning to sweep fluorescence from the thrashing waves playing with the soft sands. Every kind of footprint lay layered here, washed at night, ready for morning. Half obstructed kid-castles protruding from the beaches expanse, and dogs scattered paws in jagged left and rights in chase of what only the day will know of. That with twisted blankets, covered in sand between two parallel logs with metallic cans left balancing on top.
8:59.
Chilly at her toes, two taped together and red scraps just below her knee. Legs shining, bright and half way from burnt and into being summery tanned. Her long fingers are pressed to the back of his neck, more touch at the curve of his back where shirt is untucked for her exploring pleasure.
"Afraid of a little laughter are you?"
"With you? Never. I wouldn't last a day."
"Maybe when we first met, but now? Now I think someone's a little shy."
"I always laugh with you."
"You do that silent curving lip thing with me."
"Well, lately I see stuff. Stuff that makes me wanna say other stuff."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
9:00.
His skin shimmers when they stutter their pace and the ocean runs up between them. He knots a hold into her wet hair, watches her, open, as she drags his mouth to hers. Slowly.
9:03.
Kissing the winds goodbye, tugged from out of view does the sun wish the sky a quiet goodnight. Flowers awaiting, trees blowing as stars speckle and sparkle from sea to sky and back again.
9:13.
"It's getting everywhere."
"You look cute, let it."
"I have a thing with things and where things shouldn't be."
"I know you do."
"You're laughing!"
Their hands are sturdy palm to palm. Her feet dig into his hips as she keeps him balancing.
"Does it feel like you're flying, Jack?"
"It does, Rose, it feels like I'm soaring."
"I think it's in my mouth now."
Trying to wipe the sand from her face on his dirtied shirt, he strains as they wobble too far to the left. Planking on her sturdy legs, a careful act in acrobatics and trying their mightiest not to let the giggles topple them over.
"You good?"
"All good."
"Good."
"You're great, you know that?"
Crinkles spread, looking down at her, both fidgeting to keep the game going as he looks out to the islands scattered in the far landscape.
9:29.
That's when she saw that look again. The one that came with chin ducking away, then between them, and back all at once. Teeth shining as they rode the city bus through bare streets, lonely lampposts and a bus driver with a beige handkerchief and a throaty cough.
They sat intertwined in the back, hip to hip, pressed upon sights observing the town. Everything still, all silent, gently hooked arms. Swaying with the lines of streets, popping open the window to sweeten the sweat on their brows, on their lips, necks, backs. Clothes mismatched to whom showed up wearing what initially.
9:31.
The bus brushes by as they stumble to the wall just below the flickering BC liquor store sign. Red light showering them, can see the beach still clinging to bags, breaching itchy shoes. All touching, caressing. More red on cheeks—different red marking collarbones—soft red lines on backs.
9:42.
"I like you."
"I know."
"I really like you."
"I know. I really like you, too."
He bumps his nose to hers, flicks it. She does it back.
"Copycat."
"Idea stealer."
He does it again. So does she.
12:02.
Two 20-somethings consume the kitchen, cooking in the early A.M. Chatting amongst themselves, unaware to he and she looking out to the hostels mountain view. Plunging hills steep as they are jagged with snow on the tallest peaks in the distance and round tops on the ones just close. It's cloudless. Divine. Reflected in the movement of the water, consuming secrets unknown to the depths unexplored. Tide rising without hinder to the wharf still as rocking boats, attached to The Oyster fishery. A blue building built off stilts and tugboat-men's daily visits.
"I'd move here if I could. Maybe dock at the peer there, be off the grid. Greet that cranky sea-otter each morning."
"Sea-lion."
"Right, that's what I meant."
"Which did you know, have stronger jaws than bears? I mean, that plus how much scarier of a name could a mammal have than sea-lion."
"Sea-bear?"
"I knew you were gonna say that."
"Actually, lion, it kinda matches the attitude, too."
"Is that another cat joke?"
"Pretend I didn't keep saying these things. I'm tired, okay? Keep thinking I'm suave."
"Sure, okay. Suave."
...
"I'd make camp right at the edge of that cliff—no, actually. Maybe that one there, yeah."
"Wouldn't it be steeper there?"
"Exactly."
"Thrill seeker."
"Don't worry, I'd let you visit me from your Bear Grills Survival Ship, and have a chance at a real view."
"I think I'd just let you enjoy it for me."
...
"We still have the rest of the night."
"Yeah. All the time in the world."
"Tons of time."
"And the sun's not up for hours yet."
"Exactly. Still too early for talk about, you know, that later thing."
"I don't like things that shouldn't be."
3:47.
The aroma of baked goods and the beeping of the cooks' alarm stir arms and legs strewn together. Abandons soggy sneakers to the communal living space, up the wooden staircase with peeling wrappers from steaming muffins. Munching as feet drag.
3:55.
Four roommates asleep, the top bunk snoring as they creak into the lower, both tugging ill-made sheets into comfort. Battery drained phones face down on the floor with three socks, a dress, a hoodie and the flannel.
3:56.
She cries into his shoulder and asks him not to wake her in the morning.
8:00.
Sitting on the wharf with crossed legs and arms, she sits with the waves. Doesn't think of the absence, doesn't think of the hurt, the stir of confusion, of longing, and that certain something she spotted in glimpses passing through him.
Something.
A word to match the memories of hiking through mud, up walls with ropes and fallen trees, whales breaching, sea otters and lions, owls and howls from wolves and bears hustling small cubs up trees. Truck rides with over-priced snacks, obsessing over plantain chips tossed out bug-muddy windows and blasting on old disk on the radio where taco wrappers fell silent to their humming. Long-boards, surfboards, monopoly boards and all that filled their seldom stillness.
8:57.
The whisking of the waters slapped and slid along the doc as a storm brewed.
She jumps into the ocean, smiling as she swims.