I found a bottle on the shore,
Sealed with wax and midnight lore,
Inside, a letter wrapped in lace,
My past life's tears in cursive grace.
"Dear future me," the ink began,
"Still chasing ghosts in sinking sand?
Did your dreams survive the mind wars,
Or did you lock it, slam the door?"
She warned of boys with eyes like flame,
Of hidden hearts that play the games,
Of dancing too close to the edge of the moon,
And humming heartbreak far too soon.
“Don’t trade your soul for carousel lights,
Don’t marry silence, it bites at night.
Keep a bit of the youthful air of innocence
It adds to your confidence.”
I read it twice swirling with the tide,
That bottle shook with every line
I’ve told myself to make it through,
But she knew me, and I knew you.
So I wrote her back in ocean ink,
Let my thoughts drift as I think:
“We lived in ruins, kissed like crime,
But **** we danced so well through time.”
And so I let that bottle drift away,
To find the girl I used to play,
Before the bruises turned to art,
And we forgot the shape of heart.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 5:01 AM UTC
I found a bottle on the shore,
Sealed with wax and midnight lore,
Inside, a letter wrapped in lace,
My past life's tears in cursive grace.
"Dear future me," the ink began,
"Still chasing ghosts in sinking sand?
Did your dreams survive the mind wars,
Or did you lock it, slam the door?"
She warned of boys with eyes like flame,
Of hidden hearts that play the games,
Of dancing too close to the edge of the moon,
And humming heartbreak far too soon.
“Don’t trade your soul for carousel lights,
Don’t marry silence, it bites at night.
Keep a bit of the youthful air of innocence
It adds to your confidence.”
I read it twice swirling with the tide,
That bottle shook with every line
I’ve told myself to make it through,
But she knew me, and I knew you.
So I wrote her back in ocean ink,
Let my thoughts drift as I think:
“We lived in ruins, kissed like crime,
But **** we danced so well through time.”
And so I let that bottle drift away,
To find the girl I used to play,
Before the bruises turned to art,
And we forgot the shape of heart.
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