The days batter the hours from out of your gut, you walk barefoot in the low tide and collect oyster shells like you had somewhere to put them. By the time you return to the docks your neck is flushed. In the early morning, while breath still swells in puffy clouds, you run to the beach and dive in the waves before it is too late to turn around.
The sea has saved you time, and time again. Why would this be any different?
You go to the ends of the earth,
but truths will follow you both there and back.
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