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I was five. I felt the moist air soak in my dry, Colorado epidermis immediately. The bitter cold temperatures were instantly forgotten as the postcards my grandma always sent came living. The very first wave crashed loudly against the coast and I squeezed my mom's soft hand a little tighter. The vast, endless horizon combined with the boom of this wave frightened me. It was so different than my still, quiet pond in the home. Shortly my fear has been forgotten though, as my sisters ran into the big blue monster and laughed with joy. The damp sand at the edge of the lapping waves called my name, asking to be become a sand castle filled Disney princesses and flying winged horses. People flashed smiles in my direction, laughing due to my apparent wonderment. I had been at Charlie Young Beach in Maui, Hawaii. I was in heaven. I was eight. My mind fought to keep in mind the faint whispers of the beach three years ago. The black lava rocks protruded in the tan sand. Were those the very same rocks that had made my fort three decades back? They must have been. My hand ran over their rough, porous surface while their firm stance blocked a waveвЂ™s attack. The distinct smell of heat and salt sent a million signals to my mind telling me to smile, for I was finally back. I ran freely after my cousin to the monstrous ocean. Everything was just as it ought to have been initially: the ocean was deep blue with white foam borders, the hot sand was soft in its way, and the palms trees towered above me. However, a few things weren't quite right. The salt from the ocean stung my eyes ; the sand was hot, but full of thorns waiting to catch my bare feet. I took one more deep breath, hoping the smell of the beach would conceal these defects in heaven. As the humid air filled...