Pride of the Shore

There isn’t a patch of wet cement in a 30 mile radius without your name scrawled in it.
There ain’t an old oak tree in the park without our initials carved across its trunk.

We have a fine view of the park. It isn’t of anything especially pretty or interesting but it is pleasant. If you stand on your tip-toes and lift your head in a certain way you can see the tops of the trees turn to brown and red and orange in the Fall.

It is Fall now. The air is turning crisp. We both have tickles in our throats. It’s going to be a cold winter.

Soon we’ll make snow angels every chance we get. Soon there won’t be a night of rest for the fireplace. We’ll duplicate cave drawings on the dust of the windowsill when we get bored from being stuck inside with nowhere to go. You’ll begin building a better body in secret. You'll do push-ups and sit-ups while I am at work. All winter long, in long winter clothes.

You’ll stun boys at the beach come June.

We’ll sit on the sand and I’ll tell you that the sting of loneliness can really hurt a man like me and you will touch my arm and tell me that I’ll never have to worry about that. We’ll build sand castles every chance we get and your bathing suit will be the pride of the shore.