The pier.

The place at the edge of the ocean.

The place where water sloches on the wood as it tries to find calm.

The place where woes can be heard.

The place where many come to wail their problems and hope the harsh wind takes them away.

The place where many have sat.

Staring into blue distance.

At crossroads.

Not sure what to do.

A place where many a turbulent minds have found peace, listening to the crashing waves.

Rocking the soul.

The place where the salty air never smelled so fresh.

The edge of something.

Where questions about taking a plunge have been turned over in heads until they lost appeal.

A place where love birds have sat.

Feet dangling.

Holding hands.

The wind on their face.

Happy to be free and aware of how much they don’t know of the situation they’re in but are willing to hope.

The pier.

The edge of something.

The place to whisper your sorrows and listen to the wind take them away.



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