Stranded between rivers, longing for the sea.
“Just like winter ice, we all change with a little heat. It keeps us getting up each morning, keeps us awake at night, keeps us stealing precious scraps of time out on nature’s highways, hunting that clear, cold weight.
And just as shadows hide in winters skyline, at some point we lost the innocent feeling of looking and understood what we wanted.
Heavy eyes and ice on the floor. Grinning, nervous faces at the end of the land and the start of everything else.
Dice tumbled for passionate hopes that couldn’t hide in the eyes of boys, men, maids — all of us lost, found, and changed, trusting our hearts at sea, searching for one thing: the simple satisfaction of our own mortality.
Waves that are ageless, that go down slow and are as strong as the roots of ruined roses.
And those ambassadors of landless latitudes, that roam as they desire, without god or country. There, journeys end as ours begin.
Heads roaring with belief, ideals become clear, but all remain ultimately ignorant of the sea. She’s always hunting, ready to humble the martyr, the sinner and saint in us all.
I once heard if a man feels at home outside of where he was born it is a place he is meant to be. Cold and coming up for air. I blinked, knew it true, and shivered with joy.”