for you.
we were on your balcony,
the waves nearly drowning out our words
and I pulled my sweater tight, dampened by the mist,
as you pointed at the hulking metal structures
which you told me were oil rigs
that lit up the sea for miles
reminding you of Christmas trees
floating at the edge of the horizon.
we were sitting on the sand,
skin baking in the sun’s blistering heat
passing around the “award-winning” joint
you picked up from your favorite dispensary
and we wondered how they even decided such a thing?
imagining state fair judges smoking for days on end
before proclaiming that this very joint gave them
the best high of their lives
then you paused your half-hearted impression of them
to remark how strange it is to be doing this
with someone you’ve known since first grade
leading us to reminisce about our shared past
and the separate lives we’ve led
so we spew on and on, revealing stories
of lost friendships and dates that went nowhere
of the love letters you wrote (but never sent) to a girl we both knew
until your boyfriend picked us up in his car.
we were wandering around the downtown area
steering clear of the seemingly endless stream of bikes
that zipped past us on the street
when we found ourselves sitting on the grass
behind the courthouse
dew seeping into our jean shorts and coating our rubber sandals
as the air cooled and the sun’s rays softened
allowing me to observe freely without strain
I tried to soak in every detail of our surroundings
marveling at the home you’ve created,
at the fact that I’m sitting there beside you
enveloped in it myself.
we are standing at the train station
ears deafened by the steady hum of engines
instead of the roaring ebbs and flows of the ocean
when a blaring horn signals my train’s departure
I’m thinking about how I always tear up at goodbyes
but I stand before you,
steady.
Writer | Kyla Biscocho ’25| kbiscocho25@amherst.edu
Editor | Mel Arthur ’25 | marathur25@amherst.edu
Artist | Kyla Biscocho ’25| kbiscocho25@amherst.edu