I still smell the scent of the sea on her, that summer when
she got back from the shore, sundress and sun glasses, reflecting those night
over that lost weekend in the room of the hotel with gold trim, and I ask
myself, do I think all girls are bad, meaning do they sleep over with whomever
they choose, while men like me crave love and must trust to luck, her and the
sea always drawn together in my brain, even now, even all these years later
when she is not the same person she was back then, having given up her beach
towel for something infinitely more substantial, even though I still see her in
the lobby of our office, hair back, her face mostly hidden by over-sized
sunglasses, which reflect my intense desire to be with her at the sea.
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