The Ocean I miss

Bahia Honda State Park. Prettiest place ever.

I miss the ocean and the waves and the smell of old oyster shops and salt water spray and even rotting fish. I miss the sand that smooths and polishes the soles of your feet and somehow manages to smooth and polish the soul inside of you too, you know. I miss the self-centered seagulls and the pelicans that have brown fuzzy necks and big wings that stretch and show-off and make tourists ohh and ahh. And I miss the sounds and the feels, too. Like the wind that, while passing through the palm branches, seems to be decoded into song and reasonable, but yet such unreasonable thoughts. I miss shell- looking and swimming out a little past too far just to hear mom's panicked voice tell me to come back, come back, and I scare her. That's what I do it for. Mom doesn't miss that, but I do. I miss getting dissapointed by the rain. Saying, "God, did you forget about me? Where's the sun?" and him answering with subtle findings. And also sunshine. I miss the clunky purple mangoes that smell sweet and Paul chopping them up and putting them in our fruit salad. Breakfast. I miss the cubans that ride around the keys on bikes with flat-ish tires and drink coconuts with their thick smooth voice and sun-burned skin and happy smiles. Yes, I miss swimming alongside the dolphins and getting my mind blown straight out of my head and feeling like I'm asleep, but really I've been underwater too long and I need air. I miss seeing the Mama turtle come up on the beach early morning and the baby sea turtles hatching and crawling on my feet and not telling the wildlife officials. And seeing that God remembered me, and knows me better than I do.  I miss mom crying when she sees the house, the old house, her little-girl room and her bedroom window, and the front porch dad made when he was young and long-haired probably.
Why is it so close to me when I never spent years and lives there like they did? I want to go back to my newly adopted somewhat home.