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I dreamed of the ocean, all that space, all space. And I ran and ran in my dream, traversed endless sandbars on the beach, without footprint or shadow, while the ocean was buffeted by rain, pelted with itself in chaotic miniatures, that vast expanse locked within each puny drop. In the dream, my father was there, sober and healthy, and I was young again, and we’d dance on the sand, without footprint or shadow, and I remembered a promise I made to that blue orb the ocean, and to the deities of beginnings and endings, to the gods of youth and senescence, that when all the world would go down in fire and brimstone, I would take care of him, a promise, or debt of life, that came to me, with my father now old and sickly, and youth having eluded me, it came to me, the gods speaking in dreams, in rain buffeting the ocean…

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…And I awoke to the sound of sunshine and mornings, the ocean miles away, and as I looked out the window, at the mountains standing faithful, I thought of all that space filled up with a vast, open expanse, locked within a border of mountains and a relentless undertone of ocean shores, from which I could not run, I could not dance, and my father and the gods barely remembering me.

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