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I dreamed the oyster beds were singing
I was standing knee-deep in the tidal flat at low tide, but the water wasnât coldâit was warm, like breath on skin. The shells werenât just opening and closing; they were humming, not in unison, but in a kind of slow, overlapping prayer. I didnât understand the words, but I knew it was about remembering. When I bent down to touch one, it whispered my nameâjust onceâand then went silent. I woke up with salt on my lips, though I hadnât been near the sea all night.
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