The taste of the ocean lingers on my lips. The saltiness coats my skin so that even under my covers at night, I can still smell traces of it in my hair.
Eyes closed… I am transported.

My childhood spent on the Pacific coast surrounded by the sea. Each summer day, the endless vista of crashing waves, cherry kool-aid and warm peanut butter and jam sandwiches that, not unsurprisingly tasted a little like the sand we spent hours building castles with.

Carefree and fearless. That is what I remember the most.

Despite my desperate attempt to hold onto those feelings, like all children, I watch with dismay as they slowly slip through my fingers. The tighter my grip, the bigger the trickle until I am no longer clear of what things made me truly happy and secure.

Time passes and you grow up. Life gives you new joys and new heartaches. Perhaps you forget your childhood wonder. And you wander through your days, head slightly tilted like you hear the echoing cries of a distance past. These memories are forever stained on your skin, buried deep, waiting.

Waiting for the moment when you remember them again.