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“She was the ocean—consuming, devastating, no hope of predicting or controlling her—and I was a helpless little piece of sea glass, thrown around in the pull of her tide, hoping to have my sharp edges smoothed by her touch.” — Evita Wren
She was the ocean—consuming, devastating, no hope of predicting or controlling her—and I was a helpless little piece of sea glass, thrown around in the pull of her tide, hoping to have my sharp edges smoothed by her touch.