Just got back from a junk trip. It’s been raining cats and dogs for the whole week, but miraculously, today the dark clouds parted and the weather was perfect.
Lying in the sun, being rocked to sleep by the slow swaying of the boat, listening to the waves wash up on the nearby shore, I thought: I don’t believe I could ever live anywhere that is not near the ocean. All my life I’ve never lived more than half an hour away from the sea. I can’t count the times I’ve held my breath, waiting for the exact moment the sun disappears in a golden sliver over the horizon.
When I die, I want it to be in a beach house, where I can listen to waves crashing. I want to have sand under my fingernails and salt in my hair.
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