He liked the saltiness of the breeze besides the ocean – dry. The sharpness made it more appealing.

When his heart was broken – which was rather often, he tumbled down to the beach with his bottle of gin and dried sardines.  Little did he know it was about the change. So, what was he to do when she broke his heart in two at the spot by the sea – his childhood favorite.

The boy lost 3 things that day –
His faith in love, his love for the sea and the child in him.

He now shuddered into the bar at noon, spew out at 10 – sunken eyes and dolled glands. The cheerful boy now had turned sour as the spoiled milk. He now loved none, just lusted for revenge. He ravaged a whorehouse a day, with numbers fucked – piling mile high. He hated the ocean, its sharp saltiness with a vengeance; and trashed the spot white many a day.

He didn’t realize it not just a trade off, but a canopy. As his hate and blue cooled down over the years he realized, it wasn’t him all along. He realized love was love. One sides or two or three or poly, it romance – love, it returned to him on his last day, all while he fucked the last whore in the brothel lane. He suddenly urged to see the ocean, feel the sharp salt against the sunken cheeks; he followed his feet to the trashed spot. The child appeared along the horizon – fishing and playing the lute and eyes welled up too see his hear stop while the ocean his last.