The smell of the ocean.
Sweet, hot wind and sun-baked seaweed cooling as the sky darkens and steaming up the air with its salty, musty, stinging breath.
And how it looks.
Like dominant and crashing and determined. But accommodating.
I don’t know where it goes. Moving and holding more life than I can know.
Terrifying green-black hopeful abyss.
My first love I guess you could say.
Here I am sitting next to you on this rock that jets out into the sea, barely, like the palm of an earth afraid to drop us into the cold water. Gentle. Contemplative. Giving me time to watch the wild ocean exist around me. Allowing me the chance to slowly drop all the space between the familiar water and myself.
But then, I move closer to you.
The realness and the story of you, I want it all.
But the truth, the…
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