Anchors and Allies.

He left a sort of vague description: cryptic notes to say the dream was dead but he was still alive.
And he said it meant all the world.
He said he loved us all like sparkling bits of dull silver in a landfill, and that's how I felt.

We were always the ones who felt like we were drowning inside, but we held more beauty than you could ever imagine. Parts of us died to get to this point.
We are zombies, resurrected.

He told a sweet story of his babies breath and rose red lips.
And tell me how you know I feel alone and empty.

I was stranded on a remote island, all I wanted was seclusion. I wanted peace. I wanted to be happy.
I wanted to fucking drown myself because that's how I felt inside.

And he appeared far away, just a silhouette darkly contrasted against the peachy hues of the sunset.
The message in the bottle said, "I'm just like you. We aren't meant to be happy. But we can love, and maybe that's more important."

I tossed the bottle out to sea, not nearly convinced.

The following day, the mirage was clearer. He had eyes like I'd never seen. An angel face with a delimma.

The message in the bottle said, "I love you and I always will. I'm here to save you. Crawl out of that hole and feel life."

I was listening to words from a stranger who expressed everything I felt but could never say. He promised to always be there. He promised that one day, we would both be alive and well.

We were both drowning, in one way or another. But together, we could find ways to stay afloat.

Can you feel the abandon?

We made it off the Island and drifted apart on rafts.
He found a ship and set sail, and I was happy for him. One day, we would hold hands and smile at one another. One day I would thank him. One day, we would love each other so much that we would actually be happy.

When he disappeared into the distance, he forgot about the messages. I took solace in Pirates and adventurers. And I never saw another bottle.

Years down the line, I heard a story from a little bird about a man who set sail on a sinking ship and met a siren and fell in love.
The man and the siren fell deep under water and to keep him always, she gave birth to an anchor baby.

I watched as he acted out scenes and all meaning was lost.
He was in love. And he was happy.

The bottles were cracked and aged and the paper was stained and brittle, but I had kept ever message he'd ever sent my way.
The problem was, somewhere along the lines, he forgot his promise.

He told a series of stories with subtle hints of his return, only things would never be the same. No matter how much he tried to sugar-coat it.

We began as tight-knit as a sweater and ended up as strangers.

He never felt anything beyond his own benefit.
I'll never look back without the feeling of betrayal.
I can't ever let go.

But I'm happy.