Fragments d’un discours sans destinataire

"Christmas Spent in a Foreign Land," could be the name of this. The sea performs regardless. The warning signs stand politely. People pass through one another without collision, without consequence.

This is not loneliness. It is anonymity without injury — the rare condition of being present without being required to mean anything.

For a moment, the world does not ask who I am, only whether I intend to swim.