Woke up at 5 in the morning with the mourning doves, cooing softly in the attic. I slept so little that night, falling asleep at 2 AM and wondering if birds ever get insomnia. It was cold that morning as I stood shivering in my pajamas, and breathing carefully the faintly salty air, watching the seagulls wheeling overhead against the brightening sky. Lying on the pier, feet dangling above the water in a waking dream: the murmur of groaning boats and creaking doors and boots on deck. Just you, and me, and the sound of rushing waves underneath the crescent moon.

I am sorry for not writing as much.
Everything is so tangled and sad right now I can't dream.