I skate for you. 

Do you think about me?

Do you watch me trace your old rollerblade routes, like a lifeline?

I skate your routes in hopes you will appear. I feel you here, in the wicked whip of the palm trees, in the angry crash of the waves. I smell you in the sea soaked air. 

How do I hold onto a ghost? 

I wish I could hold your hand again, but I’ll settle for the coarse grains of sand creating indents in my palm. 

Like messages from above. 

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