Unnamed

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The Ocean, our worlds one true unknown. The chaos of foam and water that so many people find comfort in. It's enchanting, not many can deny. Paintings hung on a wall, so carefully stroked with blues and greens and aquamarines, and so delicately detailed to the finest foam bubble that lay upon the shore.

Though only so much can be captured in acrylic and oil, and ink a pastels. So many things lie just below the surface that the sun or camera light just don't shine on.

Home to so many creatures and plants, the ocean is life. Though it is also death. Water that infiltrates the lungs, cheating it's victims out of their last breaths with no time for final adieus.

It touches the sand, scattered with shells and sea glass, worn down by the rough waves that now lay shallow and smooth. Trees around it blow about in the soft breeze, cooling the air that burns the skin in the bright sun.

The ocean does not apologisze for its depth, nor it's sharp, salty scent, or it's deadly, drifting currents. For what would be more painful, drowning beneath the waves or dying of the thirst.

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