I used to look for your face, or a face that looked like yours, when the A would pass the C--as if it were a race, as if I was racing time to find you again. To find you before we’d both forgotten how salt tastes on a neck, how it burns in your eyes. All the almosts we witnessed in real time, minding the gap as we crossed back to solid ground. That’s why they move so fast, the men in motion.
Photo By: Kelly Balch
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