I’ve come to respect my constant gentle oceanic laps of memory.
I’ve come to accept the ebb and flow of universal reminders; receiving laps sent to calm the fearfulness that I will somehow simply forget.
I’ve come to appreciate the awkward rhythms, just a tad off perfect timing.
I’ve come to expect the swell and crash when seasons change; when calendar markings recall.
I’ve come to regard myself part of the shoreline, evolving, as it does.
I’ve come to weather lapse as nothing more than uncontrollable retreat and resurgence, wearing away lines I’ve drawn and re-drawn until the shape of my existence has changed so unsuddenly, I am startled to find myself where I am.
Always missing the ocean.
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