The fact of the matter is I'm lost. The dense infinite sea has all the power over me. I go where the wind takes me. There is life all around me, yet I'm all alone. I had people back home, but all of them stayed as I set sail into the mist. I'm cold. The only comfort I have is, that I will inevetably come across some sort of land, somewhere I can take refuge, somewhere I feel safe and warm. Warmth. It's all I need right now.
I write to let my mind express itself and to keep my sanity. Of which I have not a lot left. Had I any to begin with? Why must I suffer. Why must anyone? I don't know if suffering together with someone would ease the pain, or would it simply multiply it. Only time will tell. I hope, I think.
Not knowing is manditory.
That is all I have left.
Soon i might know.
If only because of some miracle, the promiseland finds me.
The bottle, the one I set out into the emptiness, hoping it will find the one I sent it to, and return her to me.
I might never know. Know that feeling.
I might never feel again. Im starting to lose it.
I never learned how to sail.
Thought it comes naturally. I could, but it is keeping me from it. This. This one, that is both a blessing and a curse. The one, who promised me the confession will reach it's goal. How will it know the goal, when even I don't? Empty promises. Just like they promised to help me.
What did I expect
The start of an 11 poem journey about unrequited love, solitude and finding myself