The One Where Things Have Come Full - And Flat - Circle.

Dear Lover,

I believe in the tap of flat stones in the pockets of linen pants.
Saved to skip across a pond later in the day.

I believe in casting a fishing line out into that pond.
Legs spread wide, the sun glinting off of the braided strand tangled within shoulder length hair.

I believe in staring with eyes wide shut at that sun.
Freckles growing on shoulder blades and the longest shadow ever cast.

I believe in those blades of grass.
And bare toes burrowing to find the shiver of castaway stones.

Love,
Me.