It was dawn and we were heading out to the fishing boat. Seagulls flocked by the old nets, attracted by habit and the taste of death – that is dead fish.
But you have to eat right? And so we walk when our minds are still in bed. Mine, in bed with her. Warm in the sunbeam glow of her skin. Her breast pressed against the side of my body. Her hair caressing my face like playful fingers.
Shush… the tide whispers. Go back home. Go back to her and your dreams of being… being what?
Being something.
“Hey, Dad,” says Michael.
“You know, I’m proud of you right?
I should say it more. It’s true.”
He then turns and looks at the seagulls and the infinite sky.
By God, thinks I,
I love the mornings.
Photo by: https://instagram.com/raulpcoelho?utm_medium=copy_link
