The Storm

Absolute darkness. The waves crash down on me like Christmas songs on December first. They’re inescapable and all encompassing. I can’t even tell how big the waves are until they hit me. But then a light peers through. Am I saved? No. It’s fucking lightning.

The lighthouse is gone. Now I’m just a beat-to-shit ship in the storm (hopefully the ship has devil horns). I’m no captain because I have no one to lead and no where to go. I’m just spinning in the whirlpool.

I don’t have life jacket, fortunately I do have booze. But my compass is clearly broken because from one second to the next the lighthouse vanished. I was two knots away from it, practically getting a sunburn. Now I’m sinking. I’d much rather get burned and know I’m on the right path than drown alone.

But who cares. None of these words change how I’m feeling.

The world keeps telling me that that time heals all wounds. Unfortunately, I can’t see the wounds without the light. I can only feel them.

Shine the light on me so you can see that nothing will stop me from reaching you, but you. I’ll follow your light to every shore before I abandon ship.