Home, feeling like the ocean beyond the reefs. The internal rush of emotion. The overwhelming drive for something, anything, for more. The restlessness. The need to reach out to someone, anyone to share the intensity, to ease it out a little... The need to jump into the sea, full on, head in and breathe it out under the ocean. To come out of the water, salty hair, and stare at the sun. To hope that the sea will wash away some of the restless despair and the setting sun will give way to a starry night. To head out on an aimless drive, to take in the beautiful island and hope that some of the beauty seeps into my skin. To sit feet in the sand, clutter free, clean lines, over creative hors d'oeuvres paired with wine, hoping that our insides will soon be just as tastefully put together. To engage with people of the same wavelength, to discuss values, principles, to analyse feelings and theories, hoping that the turmoil will cease, and that order will settle again. And then, inevitably, to resent the futility of it all, after all, no matter how big and intense. To see it just for what it is: emotion and nothing more. Even when it feels as dangerous and wild as the sea that surrounds the island. To know that there is no need to wish for peace, for I am peace. But then, that said, at the end of the day, don't we all just love the way it hurts?