There is nothing more nerve-racking than waiting as someone reads your writing. The reader becomes the videographer, zooming far, far into your heart and soul, unveiling every inch and corner. The writer remains a wary observer at the mercy of the reader, clueless as to how he might react. The writer is exposed, laid bare; her innermost thoughts and feelings are revealed in a potentially scathing moment of vulnerability. I trusted Peter so fully…in a way that I could not explain. For that very reason, it mattered so immensely. To actually tell him what I knew he had already often seen in my eyes was to allow him to enter a new dimension in that world. And it mattered. It really, truly mattered.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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He was timeless.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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The adventurer became the storyteller...and then the Sentinel of the Sea.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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He tasted Truth, a truth that he could not put into words.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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This was no ordinary lighthouse, such as the ones he had read about in books and heard described in the tales of old sailors, as romantic and wondrous as those had always seemed to him. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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He wished to be more like the sea. He wished to know its wisdom, its peace. He wished to know the legend that it spoke. The legend that soared far beyond legends. The Legend that spoke Truth.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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They are each a maze,” he said thoughtfully. “Each of them—both the rose and the shell—go around and around in their own way, yet each of them has—”

“A center,” the old sea captain finished, watching Antonio.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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A coldness, nearly tangible due to its extreme weight, was perceptible the instant I entered the room.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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It was a walk, it was a chase, it was a symphony of time.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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She nodded, golden curls beaming in their flight, as she continued her drawing, absolutely absorbed.

Gina Marinello-Sweeney


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