Porcelina of the Vast Oceans
Dawn to Dusk
The water swept out beneath him for miles and miles. The rhythmic waves crashed against the sides of the boat. The humid, salty air swelled up surrounding him and his tragic boat in a bubble of ocean air. For miles and miles the water spread on and into the red horizon. The great green ocean was all he could see. It was all he would see for many miles more. The red sunset skies leaked into the sea. So bright the sun; reflected onto the waters. The mirrored star was swaying and ever changing its shape to match the rolling waves. The serene sea was forever etched in his mind. In all this colorless green blue he was a forgotten creature. His entire being: forgotten and swallowed away by the next passing wave. And ever so slowly day was forgotten as it gave into night. The sea remembered the stars and the moon with tenacity. Night blanketed the seamless world around him. He could not tell where the water started and where the night ended. The ocean had soaked the night in like a paper did ink.
He kept sailing through the blind night. Not a thing could be seen but the pin pricks of stars that littered the sky. He had sailed through miles of green ocean days and fierce blinding nights already. Not a thing could stand in the way of what he loved, of what he needed. He yearned for his forgotten nobody. He lusted for a heartbeat that was not his own. The ocean was his only company in this empty remorse. The waves crashed against his swaying boat for no island was there to be the shores. He fell into a slumber by the mast, lulled into sleep by the soft, brooding ocean waves.
The waters drifted his boat for miles west. The miles and hours swept by without a sound or complaint. Westward was his lover’s fate. The decisive wind had pushed him in the right direction, for westward was his own cursed fate. Somewhere, not far between or apart, there lay a tiny island, an island blessed with safety, an island that was not meant to be seen by any other human, but its own captive.
And then he was awakened, his body still stiff with sleep, to the sound of a howling wind. The day had returned the green oceans that held nothing for him, but sullen colorless hue. And, oh, how the winds screamed his name. The sky was an angry purple that warned him a coming storm. The wind made the green waters three times their natural size. The waves tossed the little boat from ocean wave to ocean wave. The weather tried so hard to keep him from his destiny. In his sights he could see the island. He wished his love could reach out and capture the girl stranded on the shoreline. If love is as powerful as the fables say, then he should have the power to fight the feared storm and to have his lost lover running from the shore. But his boat kept bouncing from enraged waves. But the closer he got to his forgotten lover, the less and less he seemed to care. The closer he was, the less and less the ocean seemed green. It was as if all the colors of the vast oceans had wound and twisted themselves together. The entire ocean was concentrated and splayed into her wide eyes. All the colors that existed in the world had twined together to form the wide irises of her eyes. It made everything around seem drab and boring in even the slightest comparison. But while he was transfixed by her ocean eyes, a colorless wave roared up and swallowed his swaying ship whole. He was soon under the weight of the colorless ocean. He could not care the least. All he could care was that those magnificent ocean eyes were to be his and no one else’s. It was not the ocean that had stolen all the breath from his lungs, but rather it was the poison of his hungry lust that took his life away.
He kept sailing through the blind night. Not a thing could be seen but the pin pricks of stars that littered the sky. He had sailed through miles of green ocean days and fierce blinding nights already. Not a thing could stand in the way of what he loved, of what he needed. He yearned for his forgotten nobody. He lusted for a heartbeat that was not his own. The ocean was his only company in this empty remorse. The waves crashed against his swaying boat for no island was there to be the shores. He fell into a slumber by the mast, lulled into sleep by the soft, brooding ocean waves.
The waters drifted his boat for miles west. The miles and hours swept by without a sound or complaint. Westward was his lover’s fate. The decisive wind had pushed him in the right direction, for westward was his own cursed fate. Somewhere, not far between or apart, there lay a tiny island, an island blessed with safety, an island that was not meant to be seen by any other human, but its own captive.
And then he was awakened, his body still stiff with sleep, to the sound of a howling wind. The day had returned the green oceans that held nothing for him, but sullen colorless hue. And, oh, how the winds screamed his name. The sky was an angry purple that warned him a coming storm. The wind made the green waters three times their natural size. The waves tossed the little boat from ocean wave to ocean wave. The weather tried so hard to keep him from his destiny. In his sights he could see the island. He wished his love could reach out and capture the girl stranded on the shoreline. If love is as powerful as the fables say, then he should have the power to fight the feared storm and to have his lost lover running from the shore. But his boat kept bouncing from enraged waves. But the closer he got to his forgotten lover, the less and less he seemed to care. The closer he was, the less and less the ocean seemed green. It was as if all the colors of the vast oceans had wound and twisted themselves together. The entire ocean was concentrated and splayed into her wide eyes. All the colors that existed in the world had twined together to form the wide irises of her eyes. It made everything around seem drab and boring in even the slightest comparison. But while he was transfixed by her ocean eyes, a colorless wave roared up and swallowed his swaying ship whole. He was soon under the weight of the colorless ocean. He could not care the least. All he could care was that those magnificent ocean eyes were to be his and no one else’s. It was not the ocean that had stolen all the breath from his lungs, but rather it was the poison of his hungry lust that took his life away.