Evocative.
Clayton Cubitt, Summer 2008.
The girls sat patiently, nude, under the tree, while I looked out from the bed, towards the moonlit ocean, and felt the salty humid air stirred by the ceiling fan, and listened to the sound of the waves against the shore, and to the sound of old heartbreak, and it was all too much for me to bear, and so I could only look.
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