Babbles of a Lover and a Fighter

We took boats around a lot in the Philippines hopping to different islands.  Sitting on the outriggers, lying on top of the roof (is that was you call the top of a boat?), or being King of the World hanging off the bow, we were in heaven on the sea.  We saw beautiful sunsets and the occasional flying fish, dried up waterfalls and a rainbow around the sun.

It was absolutely perfect.  If I ever get wealthy enough to by property around those parts, I’m definitely going to.  There’s just something about the ocean, the never-ending wash of waves on the beach that makes me feel simultaneously insignificant and indispensable.

Like no matter what, compared to this vastness, my problems, my happiness, my heartache, my life is infinitesimal, but at the same time it is mine alone to experience, and sometimes it means the world to me, though not the world to the world.

I took three pictures like this on three different days.  Always on stairs, always downcast, always with feet.  It’s not that I have a weird fascination with steps…it’s just…I find it interesting that they’re all the same but totally different…if that makes sense at all.  I could be on a dock in the middle of the ocean, or in a fort where they kept and tortured prisoners, or on the beach…the steps always lead somewhere.  Why would they be there if they didn’t lead anywhere?