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Sep 2013
Nothing but water. Millions of chemical bonds that sever bonds of the heart, infinitesimally small, but they amount to canyons of separation. On the edges of the canyon stand pieces of a whole, tied through chance equally as small that grew into something beautiful.

The ties that spanned this fluid canyon are stressed by the howling winds of uncertainty, and crashing waves of dire futures lap at this fragile twine, but it holds fast and firm. He won’t let the bond break. He stands ashore of his continent framed by ignorance of what lies beyond its coral shoals, knowing nothing of the ocean that spans his affection, or of the island where his affection finds a home.

And through the storms that threaten to rip the rope that binds him to his adoration from his blistered fingers, he can see the light that keeps his grip fast and strong. He has read Gatsby and knows the perils of ominous lights that cast shadows on placid waters, but Fitzgerald knows nothing of the tangibility of this boy’s shining beacon.

She stands, not as a faint reminder of what once was, but of a blaring beacon of all that could be, and her light pierces through the cynical fog that tries to ***** out her light.

You are my beacon. You are my light through the fog of my daily struggles, the beacon that guides me through these rocky waters, holding my hand so as not to run aground on the sandbars of doubt below me. I stay strong, and I stay hopeful, for one day the bonds of this watery divide will break, and this distance will be lessened, and as easy as folding a map to span miles, I will be there with you.

So as I stand on this shore, ignorant of the island across this canyon, I hold fast in my grip, and I would sooner be pulled into the sea than let this go, hold onto the ties that bind your heart to mine.
I wrote this in February of 2012. I wrote it for someone, and while stumbling through their Tumblr for the first time, I found that they had actually posted this on their Tumblr. I haven't spoken to her in over six months. This mostly just fills me with loss, shame, and regret. But, I treat this place as a community, and a community with which I want to share these pieces of my life.
James Amick
Written by
James Amick  Chicago, IL
(Chicago, IL)   
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   Niveda Nahta
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