Growing up away from the water has not meant that I love it less, but that I love it differently. The pull of tides is strong, like blood rushing to my cheeks when hand to hand and mouth on mouth, like a wanting inside that waxes and wanes with the moon but refuses to ebb away and leave me entirely. I am shipwrecked far from the shore, so far
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is that a good thing,
or a bad thing?
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or: both
(it just is)
(though 'precise' is a word I have never given to myself, from you I take it as a gift)
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I should have added a comment underneath this to explain - I feel almost as if I've stolen a part of something I had no right to.
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i'm being tossed on the sea, and the lighthouse refusing to shine it's light to send me home.
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or: one hand and the other, separate and then connected in applause for the small, beautiful things.
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I live in a city which, basically, is in the middle of this island. I have been on the sea, in the sea, near the sea, and returned to the metal and bricks like they were both the same (because I love them both, because I need them both).
Thinking about university, I applied to Aberystwyth to study English with Creative Writing but I didn't tell anyone that really, I only chose the place because it is by the sea.
Unfortunately, I cannot stomach the thought of being four difficult hours away from home (which...god, you say 'ten' and I think a lifetime, I say 'four' and think the same) and so I decided on somewhere else, inland.
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