he said. but i am about as attainable as horizon—no, as ocean rushing toward you only to slink away. i know this, somehow, is worse.

you want to drink me in, but you gag and choke—my brine not made for your throat. i don’t think anyone could swallow me, feel me wash over

their skin and settle. if i was going to call any shore home, it would have been yours. but somehow your whale lungs were still not quite large enough to withstand me. and stuff