When I was young, we would visit my grandmother every summer. She lived by the ocean and the drive took days. While we are there, we go to the beach every day. I remember the taste of the ocean water in my mouth, the invisible pull of the skin on my face, dried by salt and sun. The grit of sand on my feet and its impossible persistence.
Perfect Day
Perfect Day
Perfect Day
When I was young, we would visit my grandmother every summer. She lived by the ocean and the drive took days. While we are there, we go to the beach every day. I remember the taste of the ocean water in my mouth, the invisible pull of the skin on my face, dried by salt and sun. The grit of sand on my feet and its impossible persistence.