If your chest is a beach, then can I be a rock on that beach?
A malignant rock that can’t be moved by wave or seagull washing over me? So that when it’s time to leave, when the sun has disappeared and it starts to get dark and I’m forced to remove my head from your sinking beach, there’ll be something you can’t rub off? Something to replace my smell?
If your chest is a beach, can I be a rock that can’t be washed away?
