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! August 7th, 1863
!There was always something about the sunrise that enticed me.
Mama once said to look up when the rays touched the clouds, to trace the gold along
the grey -- See how it brightens up? That right there is what hope tastes like, that
!feeling.
What feeling?, I would ask, but all Ma would do was provide a small smile. Not once
!did I get a straight answer, so I stood, searching.
Right now, I stand: searching for that feeling, staring at bits of gold, blue, and black.
!But, alas, I find nothing nor hope for much, so I shouldn't waste my energy.
God knows how I have none to give. And, through all His knowledge, God knows my
!allegiance has been severed through His faults.
Severed because I have seen far too little in the far too many years I have walked
this Earth. Such a foolish thing to say, Mama used to tell me, but never did I pose a
question to her in those moments. I knew revealing my concerns to her would change
!nothing of my enlightenment.
Having shared this once to a stranger however, I was told to look from the sun to the
sea -- a tall, gentle man with a small child said this in a hushed voice one night in a
!dark room. At first, I hadn't quite understood the depth of these words.
Why, how on earth could I? The sea with all its abyss of curiosity and its deep blue
contrasting my golden sky was nothing I envied or wished to linger in. In fact, I fear
it, to some extent. When my toes dip in, when the cold embraces the warmth of my
skin: it is always nice of course. Maybe you can even say, rather than fearing it, I
admire the ocean: how it flows, how it rages and yet engulfs people with such gentle
regard. Which, is to say, the ocean kills with soft kisses and arms with the embrace
!of a poisonous lover -- but who wouldn't yearn for that sort of death?
!I suppose I wouldn't, to answer this age-old query.
Ah, but here I am getting ahead of myself. It's far too late now to make much sense,
so perhaps it’s appropriate to bid my words a good night. I shall see you once the
morning greets me again.
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