i: I haven’t come looking for you, but I kinda want to. I kinda wanna curl up next to you somewhere, maybe in the sand, maybe next to a fire. Maybe it’s night and we’ve just eaten that fish we caught after a surf today? Drinking beers. Listening to the sound of the swell we’ll be riding come morning. Your shirt open to the sea. Your chest bared to the sky. Calling me onto waves.
ii: I hadn’t gone looking for him, but there he was. Paddling in. And there was my heart, drowning, in a whitewash of adrenalin. I was going to run, but then thought, ‘fuck it’. And I stayed. And I looked him in the eye. And it hurt. Not to touch him. How are you? he asked, then walked away. Then back with all the questions. How long have you been here? How was teaching? Have you been surfing? Where? How was it? How long are you staying? Are we alright? Trying to see my eyes behind my glasses. Trying to measure my anger. Trying to know how to act. He touched me on the shoulder. Three times. “I have to go shower” he said, and that was that. I put on my helmet. I started my bike. I drove away.