Loss
On the far cliff of the western tip shone a thin tall fire, a makeshift
lighthouse you had erected.
I waved and I remember the slow wave you returned, hands placed together.
You then dove into the sea, a knife between your teeth, reappearing with
a long white eel. Hours later, I slept pressed against you, absorbing the
cold salt of the sea from your skin, turning translucent as ice.
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