White cinnamon and pepper granules unite beneath my feet,
Forming a moist pathway to lapping aqua.
Foam rolls into the creases of my toes,
And for a second my flip flop tan has disappeared.
In the distance, I can't differentiate the squawking of seagulls
and shouts of enthusiastic teens.
I grew up in the salty air of the Jersey sea.
The fiery sun that comes out of hiding in August.
The noisy boardwalk with scents of smoke and funnel cake swirling by.
Now I look to my left and see the familiar smile of friends I grew up with.
Knowing it won't be long until the pastel sunsets falling into the depth of the ocean,
Are nothing but a memory.