I am a man of the sea, shaped from the soil and solidified within the salt spray, the rigging, the stars. I’ve never slept well, unless it is to the rocking of the waves or to dreams of the ocean. As a child, I would shape my blankets, pillows, and toys into a life-raft of dreams, and float within the currents of slumber.

I met a Siren once. Her hair made of the white sand, her eyes the blue of the North Atlantic and the sky. Her smile of pearls. In a short while she came to hold my heart in her hands. And, if her words ring true, hers within my palms.

I came to understand that my soul belongs to the sea; one clear night, gazing up through a companionway unto the blazing stars above, it sang. I came to understand that my heart belongs to the sea and to a Siren; one storm-ridden night, standing watch with nought but the salt spray and the waves to coax my heart home.

The Siren came to me the day I ran away to sea yet again; her eyes full of unspoken promises, her words the whisper of the waves upon the sand. With her eyes she told me of a broken forever, of a lost soul, broken glass ground to sand. But with my words I told her that sand can be reforged into glass, once again made whole. Different than before, nonetheless beautiful still.

As all things do, our time together came to an end; but not goodbye. Rather, a promise to one day come home. Be it years flowing like the tide, a captain called to shore, or in the deep depths. Thus, the future remains unknown.