Laila, you spend too much time at the beach for someone who doesn't know how to swim.
They threw you in the water, from cliffs above, devil's drop, but you drowned.
So from then on you hid in the orchards tending to a garden of your own, while you threw up salt water lodged in your lungs.
You ate peaches unhealthily, in abundance and threw them to the sea to see if they would float.
They sunk with the current black, their cores dragging them down like an anchor.
You became those peaches you saw in the town beside the ocean.
Growing and blooming and being sweet.
Until your were overripe and sour, rotten to the core which pulled your spirits into the ground from which a new tree was sprouted each spring with its fruit ready by fall.
You drank saltwater in hopes you'd finally float. Breathed in smoke of bonfires in hopes you'd finally fly.
But you stayed in that town and peach with too soft of flesh to withstand the winter.
