I can feel your presence, even though you're silent.
I can hear you shifting through the shadows to allow more light to reach me.
I don't wanna make a sound, lest it breaks the gossamer threads of
my thoughts reaching you.
I lie down at night and think of messages in bottles,
airtight reassurance of the strength hidden in their cursive writing.
They say sometimes it takes years to reach another shore. And not because of the tides.
It's because of the owner's soul that somehow slips inside before the bottle gets corked.
Throughout the journey,
the stowaway keeps fighting for a way out, to no avail.
Perhaps the tides of time will put an end
to the voyage soon. Perhaps not.
I feel your presence, definitely.
Sometimes in the form of our messages-in-bottles drifting closer.
Sometimes in a sudden gust in the wind. Sometimes in a smile fading in the night.
Were you just there, turning the corner?...
