Excerpt 2
Excerpt from a love letter that I was going to send to John Chilet, the summer after seventh grade. It was an unrequited love, but he was moving to Nicaragua, and I was devastated. I'm definitely not including the whole thing (it's just too embarrassing), but I got a kick out of some of the flowery writing. Lord, have mercy, I definitely have a thing for looooong sentences.
On the beach are three jetties that start in the middle of the beach and point like arrows in the water toward Long Island. I've kinda claimed one of them as my own, the jetty furthest to the west, which separates the public from beach from the "natural" beach that no one takes care of.
My jetty has the best view. On it, you can see everything! If you face west, you can look over the "natural" beach that seems to stretch forever. You can see the endless piles of seaweed that lie shriveled on the beach next to the billions of white and black seashells that seem to color the silky sand violet. You can watch the long grasses dance as the wind weaves between their bodies, before rushing over to play with your hair. The two distant lighthouses twinkle like winking stars hanging low over the horizon. And the ocean rolls and ripples, crashing against the rocks, turning shades of blue, green, grey and purple.
Last year I fell in love with the sunset. I would ride my bike to the beach, walk in the bubbling foam of the water, climb up onto my jetty, and watch the sun set. It made me feel calm and warm inside.
But this year, I can't do it. I still love the bursts of fire, the wisps of blue, the shades of lavender. I still like the way rainbow prisms reflect off the waves, making the sea look yellow and silky.
But I can't watch the sun set all by myself, sitting alone on my jetty.
[*Groans* You can see where this is going. Thus follows a very emo few sentences that I will wisely exclude.]
My only comfort is the cold, salt-infested wind that bathes my face and teases my hair. And later, the sliver of a moon that looks like some chunk of ice tossed up into the sky by stormy waves, chiseled down by the wind.
On the beach are three jetties that start in the middle of the beach and point like arrows in the water toward Long Island. I've kinda claimed one of them as my own, the jetty furthest to the west, which separates the public from beach from the "natural" beach that no one takes care of.
My jetty has the best view. On it, you can see everything! If you face west, you can look over the "natural" beach that seems to stretch forever. You can see the endless piles of seaweed that lie shriveled on the beach next to the billions of white and black seashells that seem to color the silky sand violet. You can watch the long grasses dance as the wind weaves between their bodies, before rushing over to play with your hair. The two distant lighthouses twinkle like winking stars hanging low over the horizon. And the ocean rolls and ripples, crashing against the rocks, turning shades of blue, green, grey and purple.
Last year I fell in love with the sunset. I would ride my bike to the beach, walk in the bubbling foam of the water, climb up onto my jetty, and watch the sun set. It made me feel calm and warm inside.
But this year, I can't do it. I still love the bursts of fire, the wisps of blue, the shades of lavender. I still like the way rainbow prisms reflect off the waves, making the sea look yellow and silky.
But I can't watch the sun set all by myself, sitting alone on my jetty.
[*Groans* You can see where this is going. Thus follows a very emo few sentences that I will wisely exclude.]
My only comfort is the cold, salt-infested wind that bathes my face and teases my hair. And later, the sliver of a moon that looks like some chunk of ice tossed up into the sky by stormy waves, chiseled down by the wind.