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Reblogged from Ned Hayes Writing:

"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face. I remember the day before she died, my mother took me out in our little fishing boat, out on the open water of the sea—the thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the rhythm never ceasing. And she taught me something: strange and secret words in a foreign tongue, a lilting singsong cadence to it."



— from the novel Sinful Folk



GREAT PHOTO from: thauwn: taken by me x

Source: http://sinfulfolk.com