Sunny afternoons,

The sky hanging low like evening time,

We run into it, gasping and laughing,

It's thick, feels like syrup

Dripping down our foreheads

She tries,

Reaching for my size 8 to 9 polo shirt,

The jumper lost in a box somewhere,

Worn but not worn out, not worn in much either,

We carry on running

She makes another grab,

We both feel the contact, relief washing over her,

My stomach flips upside down,

As if trying to digest the situation,

"Got you!" she cries as the bell sounds

And the sun washes the memories away,

As the ocean wipes a sandy canvas.