I was twenty-one, and that was the first time I had ever seen the ocean. I slept that night as close to the window as I could, straining my ears for the sound of waves. The ocean was a poetic trope, the longing of Tolkien’s elves, a setting for adventure and tragedy. I loved the idea of it, and I wanted to be lulled into sleep like the heroes of my favorite books, but that was all I knew of the water.
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