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I was born in Hospital de Bonecas, not far from the river. Mine was a happy childhood, with all the greens and blues I longed for.

I told her that I want to be filled with ocean water, some sand is fine but no algae please. She said that water will make me so good, make me feel so happy and salty at the same time. It was my prefered flavour. Sour and bitter also.

I would throw the pebbles in the water, breaking reflections, creating ripples. Sometimes I would fold myself into a small paper boat and sail away, always round and round, returning to the beginning.

My pony loved being by the ocean. He would play with seaguls and would take me places. I would feed him rosemary. He had seen many ships sail away to far away lands, returning to find oblivion.

Roots, always in the water, where there would sprout and stay like that until the glass turned green. Soil was too solid, too permanent.

Catch them and you can eat them all, they would say. I loved their scaly skin, silverish blue. Everything was about the sea, the ocean. I knew I would never live without it. Never moved away, never imagined anything else.

Euroatla, Lisbon

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