Remember that sand bar on the edge of Galveston Bay? Our feet touching under the warm salt water, the hems of our jeans dripping, passing the bottle of bourbon back and forth while the Texas sunset gleamed in your eyes? You took off that silly purple felt hat and stuck it on my head and started laughing, and I couldn't help kissing you.
The oil tankers were lined up along the horizon, gliding into the harbor as the sun set, and you asked me what the different lights on the ships meant. And I told you how the running lights worked, and the masthead lights, and how it feels to climb a swaying mainmast while the first stars are waking up. And you started to sing "Dock Of The Bay" so softly, almost a whisper, while the Texas sun sank into the sea. And I sang harmony, it was the first time we ever sang together, and I was even more scared than I was the first time you kissed me.
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