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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

I feel.

The air is warm and falls around me in blankets. The breeze is soft. Almost sort of fluffy, grazing my face. The scent of honey suckle is more comforting than salt water, but it’s an indication. A sign that my clothes will shed and my feet will callous and I sacrifice all of my sleep for you and damp sand. I’ll fight through crowds and suffer through sugar head aches. And you will be here and that is all that will matter. You’ll drink your affection from a glass bottle and I’ll let you have your way. Nothing has to hurt this time.