I think of moving to the coast,
But I imagine it must lose something
The cold water not so cleansing
The salty air not so sweet
There\'s a victorian house we drive past,
Hidden between a bend and a beach front
From a glimpse of it\'s towers I spin a life
Full of renovations and pockets full of rocks
I bite down on the sand between my teeth
I hate the feeling
I hate how walking on the sand slows me
But I walk it every chance I get
I borrow from the waves their power
From the ocean her depth
To be swallowed whole would be terrifying
But when I look out across her, I crave it
I\'ll write a million times of the feeling
And never once brush on the truth
Be it my immature pen or her wild ways,
I\'ll search of the words in vain
I think of moving to the coast,
And I imagine who I could be here
Bathed in blue and wind bent branches
The salty air strangely sweet