I miss the ocean, and
these land locked days have altered the gill structure in my ribs
set me to be set to drift far from the coast I call home
salt water and sand, the ambient reminder of the path in paths taken, its very soul of soundful tides and crashing potentials to curl in scape of the moon
the cradering of white wash and closeout blissful considerations that things will always be consistent and new all in the same way
for many sand castles have been struck up like conversation, built to hold of the rooms filled by ruins that layed imprints of souls that have glanced at on and other the same way the cliffs will always erode to build something to marvel at
See, and my fins have become parched in a city of rain so ironic that water surrounds my veins, but my aquatic is still dehydrated at the thought of not being lost in the tides
amongst all of the life I have ever known
