Nearby, a man looked at me, then at my sister, then back at me. My tear-stained cheeks perplexed him. He didn’t understand how her victory was my victory–her happiness, my happiness. He was not a sister.
They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water’s need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.
So I’ve built a wooden heart, inside this iron ship, to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. Don’t let these waves wash away your hopes, no. This war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors. Pulling fist-fulls of rotten wood from my heart, oh I still believe in saviors. Because we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores, so come on and let’s wash each other, with tears of joy and tears of grief and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach.