First-class lipstick, like satin, gently marking into history sign-offs and signatures, transcending boundaries between land and ocean.
Nothing unwritten; everything perfected in the sweet subtlety of marking names and millions of ways to say the same sentiment, sealed up below the deck.
Traversing the sea, unread letters wait in the salt and the sediment, that will soon wash over them; the timelessness of tragedy β of waters that lap over delicate bodies on beachline shores.
These same elements, clinging to life within seawater-stained envelopes find themselves just a little too much, almost a second out of time with the world outside the ocean.
Now, timelessness has moved on, and many ships have fallen since, but there remains a pocket of air, huddled in the North Atlantic, where love letters still muse with writersβ delicate bones and the sweet serenade of saltwater.
Something I wrote for a first year university creative writing class.