The waves crash on the shore... Much has been built at seaside by man, but the waves just keep crashing, one after another after another after another, in fall and sift and roil and build and crest and fall, without any beginning or ending, with no place to put a finger or even an eye. And yet, they wait for eye and hand to touch them, to play their trembling keys.
I sit on the edge of the mattress with my breath. It goes out to the sea with moist air, does not question the troubles of life.
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