Part of me wished I was there on that deck, surrounded by the buzz and glitz and mystery. What would it be like to not only be on that boat but to belong there? To be invited, at home among the glamorous, sun-kissed, and rich? But then, as I lazy-looped my arm through John’s and we meandered our way back to our beach house, I realized that this life I live is someone else’s boat. They look and long and wish for this. And so do I, until I remember I already have it. That glamorous life doesn’t really exist, and the ones who chase it discover quickly, It isn’t really here. Whoever named the boat
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