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I Am Santo

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They built cities on the sea. They dared the forces of nature to rest. It was foolhardy, but they laid bricks with confidence, bolted steel with hubris and didn’t care how the ache of tomorrow might hobble their endeavor. It was a lot like us, that boldness, that arrogance. Everywhere there were facts and figures supporting the failure of union, yet regardless these fingers brandished rings and our uttered promises fluttered over sea spray like lost butterflies mistaking waves for tall grass. We were not alone in that seaside town and a sideways glance at store windows through which helpless owners stared, worried, told us alone was near, that struggle was all around us. Yet like them we kept fever in our hearts when bigger things tugged. Nothing stops saltwater from eating away at the edges of progress, because there is no greater insistence than Nature’s. She chews through wood, concrete, metal, chemistry, intentions, and love. She has no mercy for your belief. And in time we all fall quietly back into the sea, immunity an illusion, the tall faiths we held in our hands and hearts just a little extra salt sprinkled into unfathomable depths. Yesterday was strength. Today is weakness. Tomorrow is insignificance. And we go with the tides, soft yearning crystalized and drawn away in the flood, arms bigger than any we could ever imagine encircling us, tearing us down, letting us go.

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