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Crete
Some days exist entirely in the body. Pink sand cool and damp caressing the bottom of your feet. ​
Salt on your lips. The tiredness of the sun on bare shoulders all afternoon, that specific earned heaviness. The shimmer on the water so bright it pulls something open in your chest.
Building a sandcastle, diving under looking for fish, filling your hands with shells from the bottom. You're a little kid again.
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