she said one day to leave her with sand up to her shoulders; waiting for the tide to drag her to the ocean, to another sea's shore. and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart, and all you can feel is your lungs flood and the blood course. i can see five hundred years dead set ahead of me, five hundred behind. a thousand years in perfect symmetry.

this thing hurts like hell.

(but what did you expect?)

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