Piles of pebbles.

I remember the first person who told me they loved me. In that way. I'd told him two weeks before, behind a cushion on my parents' sofa, and he hadn't replied. We were sitting on the beach that day, as we often did, in the bracing breeze looking out to sea and throwing stones at a can. He paused for a considerable amount of time, and started piling up pebbles beside him. I turned to look at his face, he licked his lips and his ratty linen jacket flapped around his shoulders as he said, 'I... I think I love you, too' as if we'd simply relocated the cosy cushion conversation to here and now. 

I squealed and pulled him up onto his feet, wrapping my shivering arms around him in a hug and squeezing as tightly as I could - because I knew he was lying. Whether he knew it or not was another matter. 

Photo by Tatiana.

Thanks for reading,

G. x