Ocean air, bad ideas, good hair

Ocean air got me thinking in shortcuts,

salt in my lungs, all my good sense on mute.

I came for the view, the horizon, the calm,

left my intentions somewhere back at home.

The breeze does a number, it edits my mind,

cuts out the caution, keeps only the shine.

Hair doing things it refused before,

suddenly fearless, suddenly its own.

Every reflection feels slightly rehearsed,

like the day picked its angles and saved me the worst.

I look like someone who knows what they’re doing,

which makes the next choice feel easier choosing.

Bad ideas arrive without raising alarms,

soft-spoken, well-dressed, no visible harm.

Nothing excessive, no headline mistakes,

just bending a rule for the thrill of the break.

They sound like freedom when whispered out loud,

they fit in the moment, they blend with the crowd.

You tell yourself this one won’t leave a mark,

said right as the sky starts leaning to dark.

The ocean stays neutral, refuses to judge,

keeps pulling the tide like a slow, steady nudge.

It doesn’t say stop.

It doesn’t say stay.

It just keeps breathing

and gets its own way.

So I let the night stretch, let reason unhook,

let impulse feel rented, not something I took.

If this turns into something I’ll have to repair,

at least I was honest, at least I was there...

with ocean air,

bad ideas,

and really good hair.