June 12
I blur my eyes and watch my fingers turn to candlesticks..wax swells pink, drips on the page, turning it translucent..I see the writing on the other page; his name is written over and over. I don’t remember doing that. I focus again and my fingers cool as I bring them to my lips. They do not taste burnt.

I keep looking out the window. The moon shows me the shore, a black line of something against the nothing-dark ocean. He’s walking down there tonight - i see the beam of his flashlight slipping around between his fingers. I want to be the flashlight’s beam, senseless and bright beneath his hand. I watch for it to disappear. He’s spent the last three nights on the beach. I saw his head find the sand, heard his breath while he slept. He wakes at sunrise, jogging back down and around the curve of shore. He doesn’t want me to find him; he can’t stay away to hide, though.

Turn back a page..
close the journal