My heart belongs to the ocean.
Its size comparable to the vastness of the latter –
open and embracing to waves
of possibilities that carry
all my visions and ambitions into uncharted waters.

A message in the bottle: “Take care of it. It is yours.”

But the map that I hold did not tell me about love.
It did not tell me about you.
It did not tell me
that love is a device that could
throw me off my navigation. It did not
tell me that I would have to go through this again:
to make me feel so small in this infinity of feelings and expectations.

I recall that day when our eyes met across a sea of people.
My heart that day was washed ashore.
Curious, you picked it up. Wondering,
perhaps, where it had come from
and what stories it had to tell.
You leaned in closer and I knew you would hear more
than a tapping rhythm – but entire songs of joy, laughter, sadness and longing.
Captivated you were by this heart,
a bold sailor, who had sung the songs
of joy and laughter – ultimately, the song of adventure.

But I still do not know much about my rescuer.
(Or my captor?) We are now at full speed,
cutting across sea and sky, day and night
and mostly at night where the two lovers meet:
while the sky covers the sea in a blanket of stars, I look up
to see your eyes – blue pools of gentle mystery.

Day breaks again and again and I remember
why I am here in the first place.
There is a dream.
There is a plan.
A map that did not have you on it.
My heart has docked but not for long.
And soon we both know a ship will sail.
To where and with whom? Wouldn't we
Both like to learn.

My heart has washed ashore. “Take care of it,” the ocean says.
“For now, it is yours.”