Relentless northeast winds breach drywall and dreams, forcing me awake at point of consummation where much was gained and much was lost. Your hollowed eyes from lack of sleep bear irrepressible mirth nonetheless. I twist the bed sheets, a lone occupant, and turn my face away from dawn. Sink the anchor down past beta, willing to approach the delta once more. Which way will the wind blow next. Will I sink into rich sediment formed at the mouth.
Rising now a second time, midmorning, clutching the pillow dampened with sweat and regret and hope - narrowly escaping further dire consequence. I am forsworn. Only my somnambulant stubbornness allows me to turn back the tide. Must we forever be divided against ourselves. When does unrequitedness ever give strength to purpose. Why do I insist on living a dream.
Unexpected nerve and plasma surge. As for the tides, I have no wish or strength to turn them aside. That's a lie in partiality. Nonetheless. Weighing anchor, willing another port, I fix my compass to trade routes and fertile, febrile fields. A brave new front.