Where Does The Ocean Go
There’s something about standing at the edge of it that makes you feel like you’re watching something alive leave. The water pulls back, and you know it’s coming back—tides, physics, the same old rhythm—but in that moment it feels like something’s being taken from you. I’ve spent enough time at the coast to know the ocean doesn’t go anywhere. It’s always there, always returning, indifferent and constant. Maybe that’s why the question feels important anyway. Maybe what we’re really asking is where we go, or what we lose in the time between waves, or why we keep expecting the ocean to answer for something it’s not responsible for. The water doesn’t care about any of that. It just moves.