Ever since I was a kid, the ocean was just there. Always. The closest thing to me, the place that held more of my childhood than anywhere else.

Summer meant running barefoot on burning sand, swimming until my fingers wrinkled, and worrying about nothing except whether I’d get in trouble for staying out too long. Winter was different. The wind cut so deep it stung my cheeks. The waves were too big, too wild. But somehow, I felt just a little bit of peace in the ocean at the same time.

The ocean keeps showing up in my dreams. Sometimes I’m standing on a rock in the middle of nowhere, water stretching endlessly in every direction. Sometimes I’m swimming, alone, in a deep turquoise sea so clear it almost scares me. Sometimes, waves taller than anything I’ve ever seen crash over me. And I don’t even fight it. I just let it take me. And sometimes, I make it. I swim past everything, past all the places I’ve ever known, and end up somewhere new, staring at another ocean, just as endless.

Maybe that’s why it made sense to me that Jacques went back to the ocean, to his real family—the dolphins. He belonged there. The way he looked at the ocean, the way he longed for it, felt familiar. But at the same time, there was something lost about him, like a missing puzzle piece. I saw a little of myself in him.

That’s why I see blue as the purest color. It looks just like the ocean. Too big to hold, too deep to know but just pure. And somehow, no matter how much I fear it, I always end up going back.