Ship in a Bottle

I’ve been a ship abreast a wild sea in a very still bottle. At times I felt your hands beneath the tossing, your eyes peering through the glass, helpless to stop the sea from storming.

And at times you had to put down the bottle and look away because your arms were sore from carrying the torrents. It felt endless. Plus, the air was stale and your shoes were too tight and your collar just a bit too small. And many times you stayed, even when you needed to change, you stayed & stayed & stayed. A very long time. And it was so comforting to look up from the deck and see you peering in, even though I felt guilty that the ocean was so heavy. I was so glad for your huge hands and your huge strength and your huge heart.

And other times, you were right there on the deck with me holding onto the mast with one arm and me with the other, rain pelting your face as you kept us from flying overboard.

And so many times I wished I could just pour you a glass of smooth sailing and open skies like I might a wine. And so many times I wished I could break the glass and let in the birds. And sometimes I would feel myself shatter instead. You would calmly sweep up the shards and take out the trash and tidy the cabin. You would fill a glass with flowers and remind me what I can hold when I am intact. And when you felt lost from the cradle of your solitude, I would light candles to light the way and play music to remind you of home.

So while you stood there holding me, while you busied yourself about the glass, while I lay there on a tossing sea, while I paced the deck and dreamt of grass, we each stayed with the other. And that is no small feat. That is an abiding friendship. That is a steady love on a stormy sea. And when we slept, we dreamt. And we sent each other lighthouse beacons of hope and home.