My thoughts are in a bucket
beside me, filled to the brim with sand.

One time when I was ten a blue bottle
wrapped itself round my leg. It stung.

But caused nowhere near the pain
you caused me.

Tiny grains escape past my fingertips.
The sand that fills the timers -
sifting it fills my time.

I wonder if I could play "He loves you, he
loves you not" with each grain, but even after
clearing a whole beach I doubt he'd still care.

Bare. Skin.
Breathe the salt air in.
It fills my lungs with satisfaction but my
Thoughts still creep to you amidst the calm.

I don't think i'll ever be able to forget you.
In the meantime, I'll just keep filling
Sandcastles of grains, hoping the next
bucket says "He loves me".