Deep Blue Water (L.T.C.I.F)

In the hush of collapse, where silence coils like smoke, I became the tide’s forgotten syllable half-formed, adrift. The sea does not mourn. It takes rocks the wreckage, folds light into shadow, and flows. I sank not as stone, but as breath undone by memory, folded like salt in a wound that no longer stings. Currents braided ghosts soft hands, warm lips, a name spoken only in storms. Even grief here is a wave: it crests, it crashes, it retreats. There’s no war with water. No edge, no end just motion. Time, that quiet mariner, steered me past shipwrecked years, through echoing trenches of selves I never became. Still, the ocean carries me. Still, I learn to be current to shimmer, to forget, to reflect. Love isn’t gone. It’s diffused stretched across the sea-skin, where moonlight walks barefoot. I am not whole, but I am water now. And water always moves.