I’ve pondered lately, looking out this lighthouse, the one we never considered stopping at.
Your childhood boat cannot get close enough, it seems lost amongst the peaks of heaving challenge, dipping in a yes, swaying in a no.
Yet, the beacon keeps doing the rounds, shedding light over the restless ocean of epochs. And we’re still here, trying to moor.
The sea hasn’t deceived us, we always knew. There is strength beyond our means, stirring under the waves, and yet, we pretended to navigate by the book, as if unsurprised.
When I finally made it to land you weren’t with me. I walked to the stone tower, let myself inside its vacant walls of salt. The emptiness roared as I climbed up the spiralling stairs, the weight of our past heavy, on my dried out knees. But I chose to come. Every night, as I tried to sleep, I could hear them. Powerful waves of deep secrets crashed against the cliffs, all around. And every night my eyes snapped open, just before the worst and final blow.
I got the chance you didn’t on that unexpected misty morning, when our shabby boats settled over a silent crystal pool. The creaking stopped, the wind grew still. I could see right through to the bottom. Blue-green rays rippled below, soothing the interior, making soft dunes. I imagined myself a seal in divine waters, so I dove in and swam unhurriedly toward the lighthouse. You were sleeping.
But I didn’t expect the emptiness inside, and I wasn’t properly attired for virgin land. Love, nobody will tell you. Beginner’s freedom stands cold against a brazen ocean, no voices, no song.
Will you ever forgive my leaving? I’m still here, at the lighthouse. Won’t you 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.