The Sea, Two Logs & a Lighthouse

I exist now after the pain, the anger, the sorrow. In the aftermath of it all, I stand alone and finally see.

We met in an aggressive sea. We were fighting the waves, trying to grasp onto passing objects, ship debris, and logs. Trying to hold onto water as it was slipping through our fingers and entering our lungs, drop by drop.

Felt like drowning.

We met each other in that horror sea. Amongst the havoc, and the hurricane, our fingertips touched… when we didn’t expect to meet anything into this vast wet mass of broken and lost.

The second we touched, a sunrise pierced the horizon and bled through the cold blue and the dark mold. The storm eased a little, and the sea quieted a bit. All the floating logs surfaced, and I could see it all.

That sunshine also touched your cheek and I saw. A cheek full of tears, not just sea water, and a pair of dark eyes that shed light stronger than a lighthouse, but a smile so silly, that made this log in front of me feel so light, it was going to drown on the next wave hit.

Why log?

Why log and not human? Since it has fingertips, a cheek, a pair of eyes and a smile? Because this horror sea only has logs. Debris and logs. And a log you did find too.

I latched onto that piece of log, you, and you latched onto me. But what happens when you hold on tight in the water without moving?

The log drowns.

I gave my all trying to keep us afloat. After all, that’s what I did before I met you. I am a hard piece of log, the repeating beatings have made my surface harder.

But my doom was another.

My struggle wasn’t floating, it was finding shore, to finally rest. Your eyes worked like a lighthouse, remember?

They shed light into my every crack, into every crack of my wooden body. The light pierced through me and I looked down. I saw in me, and I saw why I could float. The beating of sea has made some parts of me rot away, and now I was lighter. I turned to you and I yelled:

“Hey! I finally see it! Let’s swim together, let’s find the shore!”

But then, you had an alienating look in your eyes — a scary one. An empty smile, a hollow glance, a dark stare… and the light started flickering. You let loose of your grip but not once did you stop looking at me. I wasn’t scared, as maybe I should have been, I just kept yelling about the shore, hoping that my hope would spark that light back.

I kept yelling to a man about the shore when this man never even saw the sea.

I knew it, and yet again, maybe, if I explained to him that we can float, he could finally feel the sea. I wanted to find the shore so bad I started taking my own pieces out and nailing them onto you to make you float. To help you float, so finally you wouldn’t need me to stay above the surface, but float alongside me, and together we could swim.

But once you started feeling the lightness my pieces gave you, you felt stronger, and you let go of me. Started testing your floating skills. You weren’t drowning anymore, your head was above the surface, so slowly… you started drifting away.

I am now left with a few pieces less, but lighter. I don’t have a lighthouse, but I have the sunshine.

You, on the other hand, are floating pieces. Those pieces won’t last forever, they’re glued on you. You need to grow your own pieces.

Those can never come from someone else. But in order to grow them, you need to see the sea. It will be endless drifting… without arms and legs to flap around, or just edges, to create friction against the waves, and stir you onto a direction.

That’s what a second log gave you for a while, and now its pieces keep you afloat.