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I am standing on the east coast facing the Atlantic Ocean,
the wind and its long arms are whipping my hair all about my shoulders and face.
The tide washes over my feet, up to my ankles and buries me just a little bit deeper – I have no intention of leaving.
Spray from the ocean mists across my face, encrusting my lips with salt and leaving a residue on my skin. I slide my tongue across my lips and savor the taste of something truly wild, something that cannot be tamed.
I close my eyes and listen to the squalling of the gulls, their sharp calls are barely audible above the roaring of the waves.
Is this what it means to be free?
To stare down with defiance that which would destroy you.