came from the pacific ocean
he played with my finger tips
as his eyes began to wander
the wind whipped at our adolescent hair
perfume gliding under his nose
he looked at me once
saw me as i am
he looked at me twice
saw me as i was, four years past
awkward and insecure
i never knew which way was forward
but here i stand, against the wind
a boy on arm and a dress resting on my shoulder
I heard him say that the moon
actually came from the pacific ocean.
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