June 2, 2012
Kate was on the end of the dock, writing down whatever came to her mind amidst the sussurus of the wind, brushing the wreeds, the branches of the forest behind. She mostly remembered how disorganized it felt to be with him, and how he never seemed to change. The last picture she took with him in it featured him walking down the boardwalk, the sun glistening off his baldness. How do I get involved? Was always his unfocused compulsion, one for which she no longer wanted to indulge. Leaning over the rail, the seaweed were sulfurous columns hugging the pillars.