Presiding over the corpses that could’ve been, the constant tides of pain roll over your bare toes. Matching the flow of fear that rises and falls as you despair at the sight of the sea that stares through you, to the little boy who wishes for nothing more than the warm embrace of the one that brought him to these cold shores.

It’s not the vastness of the sea of possibilities that you fear but what lies beneath the surface of dreams that bubble forth once you decide to dive in.

Time stands still while the bodies continue to pile at your feet, with every breath you baptise them to a place of purgatory without realising that even in your condemnation, their souls still yearn for what they were unable to attain.

From the seeds of grief that continue to depart from the essence of yourself, comes forth a tree of redemption. In the grooves of its leaves can be read the route to your salvation, if you so wish. As you trace your hand along the smooth bark, pieces fall to your feet ready to be of service and fashioned into a vessel fit for carrying the ever-growing load you choose to burden yourself with.

You know that there is no port that allows the docking of such heavy cargo but you want nothing more than to escape the sight of the shores that have become littered with the dregs of yourself.

So row you will to shores unknown, in hopes of being released from the reflection that exposes you at every glance.

It is not until you have steeled yourself to depart that you realise, before your journey begins, you must cut the chain that still tethers you to the remnants of yourself. For the wood from this tree has not the strength to carry those who are not yet able to let go of what has been lost. Strive to close the eyes that will never see themselves in glory and shift your gaze to horizons anew. And as you do, that ever-growing load halts and with the coming and going of the tide, starts its own journey to the depth where its grave awaits.

Lighter, you hesitate as you enter, unsure of what this journey will bring. As you begin to row, you immediately notice what a task it will be, as you realise it is not just the water you’re working against as you move forward.

You look down through the surface to the darkness below, you can’t help but feel a deep pang of longing for what was, you recognise the crippling weight of what held you but also the comfort that it brought.

The unchanging cares for us and chains us.

But as you return your gaze to the ever-distant horizon, the little boy appears seated in front of you. No longer seeking the embrace of another but himself, he places his hands upon yours as you row so that the weight of what you’re leaving behind is much easier to carry.