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Sport 14: Autumn 1995

[section]

page 17

Usually, they pass the male symbols at night.

Most people are in their cabins, asleep. But there is always a girl, here or there, who could not sleep. A girl who has come up on deck to gaze into the mysterious place where sky and sea meet, to feel the deep throbbing of the ship’s engines beneath her feet.

Seagulls fold their wings over their heads and sleep amidst the dark, rocking waves. Phosphorescent fish leap through the waves with shining bellies.

It is beautiful, yet somehow sad.

The girl’s long, yellow hair is loose. It hangs in soft tendrils about her face, giving her a vulnerable look. She has thrown a cardigan over her shoulders, for warmth. Her feet are bare, her eyes wide.

Look. She is dying for love.

Won’t somebody help her?