he used to say.

by ty

he used to say, love the sea, and the sea will love you back.

he loved feeling the raindrops pelt against his brazen cheek, tracing the lines left imprinted by sheets of paper from his countless nights of writing drafts. he loved the water, loved the taste of the ocean against his lips, loved the songs that echoed up from the great depth within – and perhaps that was the reason why he never opened the umbrellas that she left by his doorstep, placing them in the cabinet with it’s doors adorned with seashells besides the shoe rack habitually with every appearance of a pastel parcel at dawn.

he was never at the whim or fancy of anyone, or anything for that matter – and so when the skies darkened and the thunder sprinted into a slow dance with the winds, and when everyone told him to stay away from the seaside, he never listened. nothing meant more than having his fingers weaving through emerald tapestries of songs and memories, and he would sing these short melodies out loud as the sun blew out over the horizon, the moon making it’s shy appearance from behind the clouds – celestial harmonies.

it clings to his skin like a lover’s fingers, gnaws at his soul like a leech, the salt like crystallized reveries and promises which he had never managed to keep, secrets left washed over by the sound of crashing waves and shifting tides.

and so she believes that perhaps if she got close, a little closer, she might find what she was looking for.

scrawny handwriting against the fine grains of sand on the beach, imprints on fibre against indents on the golden brown surface – another cork sealing the small bottle. she used to think that water might seep into the bottle, leaving the ink all smudged and so she puts in extra effort in sealing it tight – he has to read these messages, he has to.

and so the central dogma remains with the last corked glass bottle floating off into the distance, carrying in it’s minute body the last of his cyan whispers.

love the sea, and the sea will love you back completely, fiercely, and perhaps even desperately. it will do so without restraint because it’s been alone for much too long and with the miles of distance between it’s calloused skin and the celestial whispers, it’s only source of company would be the ones who come close to it.

maybe the sea made the sky cry too much, maybe the only downfall was that they loved each other too much.

it’s been far too long.