“Have you ever seen the ocean?” “Yes,” I answered . . . “We went to San Diego when I was ten.? Sarah wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I mean our ocean. The Northern Atlantic.” The way she said it one would think that all other oceans were second class citizens in the kingdom of Poseidon.
I felt the Past push against the car window, its hands thrust to the thin glass, waiting to clasp me the moment I exited. I would meet ghosts here. Not the kind that haunt and wail, but the ones that make you remember. The very air seemed to be a memory. I could never explain it, but I felt it in the tiny bumps of raised flesh on my arms. “It is so beautiful,” I said at last. The words Truth is Beauty, and Beauty Truth leaped into my mind.
"You never get used to her.” Sarah commented in awe. “She flattens our houses, sinks our ships, wears out our men, and still, we wake up just to look at her.”
Because sometimes you gotta look under the bed to see that there’s no monster.