She had never seen the ocean, and yet it was all she could think about.
She painted canvas after canvas of its great unknowable depths, of its curving horizons, of its impossible shades of blue. They stacked up against her wall like nagging doubts.
She based her work on photographs. Of the stories told to her by others. Of the power of her own imagination, so strong she could smell a tangy saltiness when she closed her eyes.
The day he told her that they would drive the fifteen hundred miles to the ocean was the day she understood love.
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