by Kendal Mosley-Chalk
She sat down by the window in her bedroom and looked out. There was the sea, as always, and the sea smell that made its way through the tiny gap the open window left. When she first started coming here, it was not the house she had fallen in love with, its white New England wood gleaming constantly against the sky and the sand, nor the incredible amount of stars that hung nightly in the sky, too bright to be real. It was not that on days when the sea grew restless and the wind whistled throughout each room, she felt light and hollowed, present. It was the smell that had made her stay. As if something deep within her had surrendered and finally understood that this was a life she had chosen.
Kendal Mosley-Chalk is 26 and lives in York, where she tries to find the right words.