It's easy, all too easy, to dwell on the big ocean.
Silly view, I must say.
Oceans don't hide their keys on themselves.
Oceans hide their climax, brightness, secrets, crimes and magic in tiny fishes; hidden between schoals, sharks and whales.
It's like that with stories.
Every story has golden snitches.
Tiny frackles of light that hide an inconmensurable amount of colors, delight, surprise, and astonishment.
Unnoticed, the undistinguished obsess and brag with the covert shells of each story.
The luckiest, the winners, the smartest, the wittest
These are the ones that see in pixels, not pictures
That look for hidden diamonds, not travelling itself
That fight for the unseen, noblest, of all joys and narratives, not pre-packaged dreams or quotes.
Challenging, prolongued, roads.
Yet roads worth travelling for.