I watch as the ocean tears herself on the rocks and bleeds over the marina. The concrete there would be a nice place to sleep, or to die, maybe. That thing calls out to me again from beyond whatever barrier sits between this world and the next. Frustrating that I am made up of so many things; my thoughts, my mind, my body, my self, the sea, the mountains, and the trees – and then whatever thing lies out of sight but makes noise in the core of my brain, late into the night. It is a certain type of agony to be this jigsaw.

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