thoughts, poems and teenage shit

hands of the ocean

Her eyes used to be my favorite color. 

When asked what my favorite color was, it had always been the eyes that I was convinced I'd forever go to the ends of the earth looking for.

But as I sit in front of the oceans surrounding this island,

 as I look into someone else's blue eyes,

 I no longer crave for her eyes.

 I now crave for the blue of the sky, 

of the ocean, 

of my favorite blue-green coloured pencil.

As these new hands of the beautiful ocean touch me while I lay on the sand and the hands of the waves crash around me and the moon illuminates 'her' body against the night time sky I don't crave for the touch of the one I used to love. 

The memories of these new hands touching me electrifies me more than the thoughts of what used to be.

I am no longer living in the past, but the present. I don't believe I'll ever forget you, but I'm being given reasons to.

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I wrote this in Hawaii and "she" is the ocean if you didn't figure out

A