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Floating there on the shining sea, I had thought there was nothing more I could want. But I was wrong.

It had taken years to get there. Years of training, preparation, construction. The trip itself was difficult as well, but I planned well. I knew where along the route I could stop for provisions.

The first inkling of light as I approached its waters was a moment of excitement. Then I pushed my ship fully into it. The sea where the sun never set, where the water itself was blinding because it was ever reflecting up the light from above, where seawater that was undrinkable a few days out, became a source of nourishment, where I would no longer need the food I had brought along with me.

Granted there wasn't much to look at among these waters. Everywhere and everything seemed to be a source of light. I spent many days just on the deck of the ship, letting my mind wander. This was not a place for worry, it was a place where they melted away.

On the other hand, almost everything else melted away as well, surrounded by light. For the first few weeks anyway. There was simply very little to do there, and with the constant glare from all directions, there wasn't much detail I could see either.

No matter. It was a place of comfort, a place of rest. From underwater, it looked as if the ceiling was made of light, constantly shifting, but there were no features for the light to illuminate, nothing except myself when I dove down.

There wasn't even a threat of drowning. The waters were breathable, but no matter how far down I tried to swim, I never found anything at all.

It was more out of curiosity than anything else that I went into the depths, but after not finding anything else besides myself and my ship, I stopped venturing out.

Life on deck was pleasant, peaceful, nothing disappointed me. On the other hand, nothing surprised me either. Not at first. After a few days, I began to lose track of time. There was simply no reason or need to measure it. Besides, nighttime never came anyway.

A few weeks or so into my arrival there, I had the sense that something was approaching. Some kind of foreknowledge I never had in the normal world. Minutes later, erupting from the water, a flock of birds flew into the air. They too were made of light. And against a background of more light, they were hard to make out, but their radiance was even more intense than the light glistening off the waves. If such a thing were possible. Spending all that time in the sea must have made my eyes increasingly sensitive to various gradations of brightness. I couldn't make out any details of the birds. They were still too bright. Maybe one day I'd be able to, if I got used to them.

They flew up around my ship for what seemed like an eternity. An upside down blizzard of light, splashes of summer water and air beaten down by their wings, leaving trails that became a shower of cold sparks, quickly melting away before they settled on anything.

Then just as quickly, they were gone, leaving me to wonder what had just happened, and to replay what I experienced for the rest of the day. Would I get to see them again? Would I be able to follow them? Was there some destination they had in this sea?

There was nothing else I could ask for after I reached the sea, but now I had witnessed something I never expected, something amazing stacked on top of the already amazing. I was almost afraid the experience would push me into misery, yearning to relive it once again.

"No," the water seemed to say, its waves gently rocking my ship. "Put your mind at ease. We will help you forget until they come again."

And with that, everything would start to melt away again.

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