It's not even a beach. It's a shit colored tiny lake overcrowded with people in bathing suits three sizes too small with crying children or overly drunk college kids who think parked cars are the perfect place to touch naked skin in after the sun goes down. The rides creak as if they are wailing for retirement. It's a place everyone rolls their eyes at then returns to the next summer, waiting in line for their overpriced tickets for the shitty five rides that were considered old ten years ago. It reminds me of some horribly filmed carnival movie with creepy killer clowns. Except instead of clowns you have aggressive rigid faced people who live off the government and spend too much money on cheap beer and look like they will threaten to sue if you look at them or their pungent children the wrong way. I remember two years ago when I fell for you the first time and we decided not to tell any of our friends about our secret affair. The way we snuck around was so childish but the most intimate memory I will ever have. You kept sending me pictures of sunsets at your family's lake house with the caption "wish you were here" while I was stuck at a beach that smelled like a bag of beer cans at a recycling center with our friends. I won tickets at their sad excuse of an arcade and picked out a heart eraser to surprise you with when you returned on memorial's day. I gave you my heart and you lost it in your dusty bedside table drawer.
