I'm sitting on a
sea rock
with Bijou, looking out over the ocean! Bijou is barking at the seagulls, and I'm imagining life in the 1700s, before the world got busy, before I was born. I love the sounds of crashing waves against the shore and the smell of sea salt in the air!
Milo and Papa fought the entire morning. Milo screamed at Papa, "You're not Thomas and my Papa," and Ma mere didn't care; she lets Papa do us as he wants, and we shouldn't care anyhow.
I don't mean to complain, but I don't know what to do. My life is lousy.
I miss you more than I ever miss the ocean, and I can smell the ocean, I can touch the ocean, I can even get lost in the ocean. But you, I can't see. My
sling bag
protects my words, my thoughts, our conversations, and even my assortment of fluorescent pens, but my heart isn't protected from missing you.
Grann, I was supposed to watch the tide, now the water is past my head. I'll end our talk for now, tuck my words in my bag and swim back with Bijou.