the dust on the photo, the way it made everything look sepia even though it was in color, like time was already editing the memory before i even had a chance to remember it right, that woman in the picture, all sharp edges and ambition, trying so hard to be right about everything and now, i barely know her, the ocean doesn't care about being right, it just keeps moving, and cosmo, he understands that, just pure forward motion, no looking back, maybe that's why it felt so good to sell it all, like shedding skin, letting that old version fade into sepia, who knows what happens next, maybe nothing, but maybe that's enough, just the hum of being here, now, with wet paws and saltwater and the endless horizon i don't even know what i'm trying to say it feels like bragging, this much freedom, but what if it's just… being real