I need a stranger. I need to find someone impartial, someone sitting in a random park in a city where secrets are welcome and the winds dare not tell. I need them to listen, even just for a minute. I guess that’s enough. I want to tell them about the seasons that have passed, and how they haven’t taken my burden from me. I need to tell them that something still feels heavy, and heavier still because I have to appear as though nothing is. I need them to know that no one else should know where I am because I don’t want to bring anyone over where I am. It’s all mine to keep, this place. I’m here alone.
I just want someone to know, while their ships sail past and their afternoons carry on, that there is a part I left when last my ship was held in tow. I can’t seem to get it back, and ironically, its loss have left my cargo heavier. How deep can a ship sink before it capsizes? Surely, it wouldn’t, right? I mean, I tried. There’s no Bermuda Triangle to disappear in.
I want to ask the stranger if they’re even in the same ocean as me. Where they are, are ships slow-moving too, burdened by something invisible and just running in empty, directionless loops? If so, maybe I can save them and tell them to steer away while they can. Even if I remain the last ship on this ocean, then so be it. Everyone, even strangers, deserve to see what else there is outside of here. Everyone deserves to be okay.