photo by Charlie Harutaka
Old Blue
Through the glass of pain I look to the sea where storm clouds gather and gulls glide along the brackish squalls.
The glistening horizon holds that great ship, smothered in salty spray and wind whipped sail, the one I named Old Blue.
Memories drift and fade, though I cling to the deck like the tentacles of a Leviathan, and my anchor to the past is nothing more save the wooden ship moored upon my windowpane.
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