She felt as if riding a wave, made up of the chords her mind struck when finding avenues of expression. And she exhaled at the thought of understanding something so golden. Golden.
The lost loves make it hard to get home safe.
The wind had picked up when they finally made it back to the sand. Balloons whipped together, tangling the candy-colored strings and sounding like drums beating wildly from a hundred rhythmic hands.
Five centimeters of thought in the right direction, but the wind blew it five miles too far.
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