Maine on a July Night

My sisters came into my room tonight. We gabbed and gossiped, laughed and drank proseco. Tomorrow we all go home.

Now, I lie in bed on my last night here and listen to the waves breaking on the beach, feel the cool breeze come in the window and blow across the bed. There are flashes of heat lightning brightening the sky every once in awhile, followed by distant rumbles of thunder. The sheets feel cool on my sunburned, itchy skin. It smells like the ocean, and like things too damp to ever fully dry in this old hotel.

It's late, but I'll read my book about a lighthouse-keeper (appropriately) until my eyes won't stay open anymore, just to make the night last just a little bit longer.

I wish it wasn't over already.