One of the things I used to do whenever I would visit my mom in Florida was to go to the beach and dig my feet into the sand. I would do this just at the waters edge so that the waves that crashed around my ankles would allow the little colorful seashells dig into the sand away from seagulls, away from danger. They would tickle my feet as they tried to dig through them, too small to penetrate, and the feel of the sand as it squished between my toes felt weird yet satisfying. I would stand there for minutes on end before pulling my feet out of the sand, walking a few meters, and doing it again. In fact, I could do it for hours were it not for the fact that the sea beckoned for me to run in and swim.
It was during this moment of simple bliss that the sounds of the gulf, the caws of the gulls, and my inner laughter were the only sounds that I could hear. I was away from the world, away from school, away from old boyfriends, away from it all. I would do almost anything to go back to that beach just to relive that moment.

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