Coward's Medals

He turned the dial in the opposite direction. While I watched. Waiting for the siren to scream. How wrong it was. It wasn't long before every song had the same name.

I number the days by TV shows. And wait for the floor to be installed. So we can crawl again. I number the days by the lovers I can still name. And wait for the walls to be finished. So that I can hang those pictures. Finally put all those frames to use.

We can sell ourselves on those whitewashed fences only so long.

Every sip was a click of the shutter. Every touch a photograph. It's never been my art. But it's humbling to be the subject of someone else's.

Slowly we dug a path away from the seashells. Step by step. The wind opened its fist to let us move.

Till we found ourselves still walking. Trying to disregard the sand in our shoes. Staring at the car and asking ourselves why we'd paid to park in spaces we already owned.

It didn't matter if it was right. But I didn't know how young I was until those words struck my ears.

That lightning bolt of recognition. That promised to strike.