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Gazing out the window, I observe the teal ocean. Its waves thrash against the biggest rocks I’ve ever seen, but in its violence, I see only beauty.

Its blue is that of a turquoise crayon six-year-old me would firmly grip in her tiny hands. She would scribble on a blank page, filling it with what she saw in her tiny green eyes as the most wonderful drawing in the world. She’d be eager to get home and show her disastrous “artwork” to her parents, who would, in turn, smile their strained smiles and nod to each other, knowing there’s no way their little girl could ever pursue art as a career.

Outside, I notice the sun seems to be getting sleepy. It has decided to rest its weary head upon the horizon, sinking peacefully into the now calm, quiet ocean. In a few hours, the explosion of colors that we know as a sunset will die down, fading into a dark inky blue, then purple, then black. The stars will come out, and the moon will do its best to shine as bright as our majestic sun. It won’t come too close, but that’s okay. Our tiny moon tries its best.

In the end, I’ll still be here, staring out the tiny window of this little brown train. Seasons, tides, and weather may change, but here I remain. Staring out the tiny window of this little brown train.