If I am a sailor
then you are my sea.
Not because you carry me,
but because you are the place
where all my wandering finally makes sense.
I have known quiet harbors
and loud storms,
maps that promised certainty
and nights that refused it.
Yet every compass I’ve ever held
tilts toward you
like it remembers something
I’m still learning to say.
I don’t cross you to arrive somewhere else.
I stay because motion feels like peace
when it’s within you.
Ships search for land.
I searched for home.
And somehow
home was not a shore waiting ahead,
but the water itself
holding me gently
even when the world is rough.
So if I am a sailor,
you are my sea.
Not where I travel
but where I belong.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
If I am a sailor
then you are my sea.
Not because you carry me,
but because you are the place
where all my wandering finally makes sense.
I have known quiet harbors
and loud storms,
maps that promised certainty
and nights that refused it.
Yet every compass I’ve ever held
tilts toward you
like it remembers something
I’m still learning to say.
I don’t cross you to arrive somewhere else.
I stay because motion feels like peace
when it’s within you.
Ships search for land.
I searched for home.
And somehow
home was not a shore waiting ahead,
but the water itself
holding me gently
even when the world is rough.
So if I am a sailor,
you are my sea.
Not where I travel
but where I belong.
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