ocean
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The ocean never apologizes for its tides, and neither should a heart be ashamed for loving deeply.
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The ocean lives in her like inheritance—salt, tide, ache, and the pull toward places that feel older than memory.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
The ocean never apologizes for its tides, and neither should a heart be ashamed for loving deeply.
The ocean lives in her like inheritance—salt, tide, ache, and the pull toward places that feel older than memory.