Old harbour

We listened to the barnacles and stood in the shallows, clinging to their salty whispers. I tugged my jeans up and over tired knees, the wet denim was cold against my skin. A lighthouse winked from the horizon and you asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. The waves laughed and choked; you couldn’t hear my answer. There was so much air. You waltzed with the light in the surf and traced our names in the sand. I tried to pick up a piece of that afternoon, to wrap it up in damp seaweed and give to you when you asked again.

Matilda Webb