I have the entire sea in my palms. Tides and tides of them. How else might I explain the constant and relentless outpourings? Sometimes, my hands feel as hot as volcanic eruptions, and sometimes as cold as Arctic expeditions. But always the precipitation. Almost like a natural, earthly phenomenon. Surely, it must mean something. Something magnanimous and astounding. Something to defy logic and exactness and fact.

I am the earth. The earth is me. That’s the only sentiment that makes sense. For, I have the entire sea in my palms.

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