Bad Religions' Generator Is On

I think of the beaches I've been to.  One with emerald green water.  One with small shells instead of sand.  You know, ones that get into your swimsuit.  And make a sound so original when they go down a shower drain.  A soft musical reminder of the beach.  Then I think about the beaches my Dad has seen.  He was in the U.S. Navy.  And his eyes must have stared out across oceans from both sides.  Mind you, not at the same time..  You know, unless he is a pervert like me and has stared at numerous female body lines.  He is.  It's a silenced understanding between he and I.  I stopped by my Mom and Dads' house to say “Hi“.  My Mom kept trying to feed me.  I think she was scared.  They had liver and onions, and I declined.  Not a fan of liver.  No matter how many times I try it.  Then she offered me rice and eggs.  With butter and soy sauce.  Which is hands down the perfect meal.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  It fits all categories.  And takes a whole new effect when you are staring across a bay under a tree while a storm is chopping waves that you want to jump into, but can't because your family is there .  Just to let the waves throw you around as if Poseidon himself was wrestling with you.  One of my exes' Dad cooked some liver one night.  He asked if I wanted a piece.  I declined.  After twenty minutes I relented and cut a small piece to sample.  It was thirty years of gag reflexive memories flashing through my head and almost succeeded in making the peanut butter sandwich lunch have a guest appearance on his kitchen floor.  She left a huge crack in my soul.  Not that I am innocent. Rarely am I.  She was the first in over a decade to turn my view on marriage.  My Mom was happy.  They know of each other from working together years ago..  I told her to not avoid contact because of me and to still accept her friendship.  She never replied, but I know I effed that one up.  So I confide on Writerscafé.