i'm sitting downstairs in the dark by myself and i can hear the wind whistling and i can hear the ocean and if i angle my head a certain way i can see over the edge of the balcony to where the white caps are outside the harbour. almost three months ago i spent a few hours on a beach in the middle of nowhere late at night with some of the best people i know, and it's one of the places that i have constantly missed. i am terrified of the ocean, but only going in it. the salt and the spray and the taste and smell and sound and the briny feel of it is what home feels like. (i think that's why i want to drive my gd's ute when i get my license, because it smells like the ocean.) if there was ever one place i could go back to in time, it wouldn't be summer nights spent running barefoot through the streets with these twins, it wouldn't be standing on the sidewalk in london or the side of a mountain in new zealand or squashed in a tent with these girls who i don't know what i would do without, but it would be on that beach. c and i walked down to the headland and back and when we lay down in the sand, i didn't care that it was going to be hell to get all the tiny grains out of my tangled hair. if i sit here and close my eyes, i can almost imagine that i'm back there again. i grew up near the sea yet i have always been scared of it, the sheer power and force it holds. it's like standing at the top of a cliff and being trapped underground in a cave at the same time, but i'll be damned if this fear stops me from going home.