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I found a walking stick of driftwood. I dragged it along the sand, stuck it in the muck, flipped over strange discoveries with it, and held tight to it... my gift from the sea. Clonidine For Sale, When I got back to the beach house, I pulled out the sharpies and decorated my stick a bit. It came home with me. As did several pocketfuls of shell, a container of sand, and a plethora of pictures.
I learned to be comfortable alone, without being lonely. I learned that the voices in my head, while occasionally sounding insane, all have valid points to be considered. And I learned that even if you don't know every pebble you'll encounter on the path, knowing you're at least on a path does wonders for the psyche, Clonidine For Sale.
The little girl was relocated when a piece of blue chalk literally fell from the sky (though I think perhaps a child tossed it, Mary insists the universe threw it at me). The gypsy was cleansed by the waters she loves. And my soul is healing. It's got to heal from the inside out so it doesn't leave scar tissue, I know that, but there are stitches and bandages in place and the initial pain is finally subsiding. Clonidine For Sale, I watched the sun rise on my last day there. I looked at the beach and the things the sea had coughed up for me to discover---puked up from her depths---and realized there was beauty even in what's discarded. And wondered if occasionally it wasn't especially in what's discarded.
I cried my last tears and let the ocean swallow them up, making them her own, and made it impossible to ever find them again. I stood up. I brushed the sand off myself. And I took a step forward. A pocket full of pebbles shells and a path to follow...