Salty, moist air settles down on the frail skin of my untrained arms. The wind, gusts of it hitting my face, cold, brutish, harsh. My hair in a frenzy, the view into the distance hampered by an approaching storm. Grey all over. Black inside. The sand beneath me is giving in, birds are flying inwards, fleeing the tempest. The sounds of nature like atonal music, a mixture of new age jazz and heavy metal. What guilty pleasure to keep standing here while everyone else is fleeing, to deliver myself to this show of force put on by nature. Such frailty in the eyes of such enormity. The storm approaches, it starts to rain. I rip my clothes off, I fall flat on my chest. A wave crushes over my head, my nostrils and lungs get filled with salt water. I swallow some of it, it feels as though I am fighting for my life. And so it exists, this life. A spectacle so powerful it triggers even my abnormally low drive to survive.  And all those what ifs, they barely matter. We all are bare, we all are matter.

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