The water wasn't the same down here. Water is what runs out of the kitchen taps or a playground drinking fountain. It fills bathubs and pools and yes, of course, the ocean- but at a certain depth, water becomes a barrier from all you remember, all you think you know.You're trapped within it, a plaything of it.Focus erodes. Your thoughts mutate. The pressure.The pressure.The soul can't cope with that. It shouldn't be expected to.Humans weren't built for this. There's a reason nothing lives down here.Or nothing should.
A broken heart, too much cold beer, ocean waves and a willing man were never a good combination, no matter what the country songs said.
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A broken heart, too much cold beer, ocean waves and a willing man were never a good combination, no matter what the country songs said.
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There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.
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Though everyone who mattered to him told him to walk away, though Lindsey herself told him to walk away, he was still here. And she was still glad.
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