in my car on my break

This lie, the one I keep telling about not being heartbroken when it'll come time to leave Venice, is never more evident than on the boardwalk in the morning. The truth is that I will miss the beautiful way this place has allowed me to be in sadness and in joy. How it archs its spine, rolls its tongue, sits there dead still, then smiles all the way off its face. That it provides a fitting poetry for the entire spectrum.