Lately, I’ve pondered. Looking out this lighthouse, the one we never considered stopping at.

Your boat cannot get close enough, it seems lost amongst the peaks of heaving challenge, dipping in a yes, swaying in a no.

The beacon keeps doing the rounds, shedding light over these restless oceans of epochs. You know well it hasn’t deceived us completely, we always knew. There is strength beyond our means, stirring under the waves and yet, we pretended to navigate by the book.

When I made it to land you weren’t with me. I walked to the stone tower and let myself inside the vacant walls of salt. The emptiness roared as I climbed up the spiral of stairs, the weight of my days upon dry knees. And I stayed.

Every night I could hear them, inside. Powerful waves of deep musing crashed against cliffs, and every night my eyes snapped open just before the final blow.

Because I got the chance you didn’t on that unexpected misty morning, when our shabby boat settled over a silent crystal pool. The creaking stopped, air grew still, I could see the bottom. Blue-green rays rippled below, soothing the interior into soft dunes.

I imagined myself a seal in divine waters, so I dove in and swam unhurriedly toward the lighthouse. But don’t believe for a moment it was all sparkle and joy. No one told me about the climb up, the frozen handrail, the emptiness. I was not properly attired for freedom.

Love, they won’t tell you. Beginner’s freedom stands cold against a brazen ocean.

Will you ever forgive my leaving? I’m still here but at the lighthouse.
I want you to look up, ride a wave, leave the dried up boat. Break off the pretended vessel. Come to me.
I’ll ask the sky for a misty evening, because I know you hate mornings. I’ll throw you a line, but only if you are willing. It’s the only way oceans really settle, the only way they abide.