"Drink me".
The bottle sings as it falls. The song of crystal through mist. Hums with a soft determination. It crashes into the sculpted waves of lunacy below.
Triple-plated glass of amber-orange, I can see it bob desperately amidst the clutching arms of the sea. There's another message inside this little glass boat. As always, I've filled it with regret, and hope, and apologies. Cork-sealed with conviction, tossed with the careless, contrived throw of a bad liar. It will join its brittle siblings in the ritual of being shattered and scattered. The invitation within drowned to sleep without being read. Read without being understood. Understood without being felt
The ocean has no answer for me, except to hurl my little flask against the cliff face. Over and over.
I stand atop the dusky and windswept heath, and watch carefully. As a scientist who loves his life's work. Internally, I war with detachment and investment, and I wonder if some day, my bottles will make it out to the slowly growing maelstrom in the distance. The maw I can see from the privileged plateau.
11:27 p.m. - 2014-05-16
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