there are very few things I don't love about the ocean. there you stand, small and trembling, inconsequential. and there you stay, unmoving, a constant in the variation.
it whispers to you, and you feel small. this too shall pass, it says, this too shall pass, with its shifting currents. the tide rolls in and out. the water chases itself forward and backward and forward again, its ebb and flow steady, its patterns turbulent.
alone alone alone, it screams, and alone you are. there is sea and sand and air, but in this, you are alone.
peace. there is peace in the ocean. among the waves and their silver shifting, among the breeze's unceasing whispering, there is quiet.
and through this silent sadness lies a longing man can never understand.
sitting there amidst the quiet loudness of the ocean, listening to its never-ending pleas-- a bandaid to my soul.
