What are these thoughts which lap against the shore of my tired mind? Gentle, but insistent, they change the pattern of the sand, the pattern of my thoughts, and I am unsure whether I can obey these new ideas. I put my hand to my head, hoping to draw them all out, to rid my brain of their chaotic influence, but the more I try, the more I fall into the blue. My soul is crying out; I'm sure I can hear it above the noise of waves, above the sobbing of my heart - the same sorrow as that of the great African beasts when they lose someone dear to them - mournful, helpless - but can I follow it in earnest? It wants to lead me to passion, to love, but it may lead me away from security. The choice, therefore, is this: do I follow passion, or do I place more value on security?
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