Sitting in the dark, writing blind -- you're not with me, but the words are. I chase and catch them like fireflies, to put in my story bottles and toss them into the millions of oceans between us.
Do they reach you, those shimmering bottles that I've made? Sometimes you call out to tell me that you've found them. Do they push back some of the night? Or do you smash them, or let them float away? I'll never know. Only you know if you gather up my bottles in your arms, or stand and watch the tide take them back. Only you see if the dark sands of your shorelines are brightened for a few hours, or littered with useless shards.
We strand ourselves on these islands deliberately, don't we? It's the only way to hunt the elusive light -- alone, silent, in the dark. All this effort for a Crusoe existence, one we often think we would happily trade for a boatload of pearls. Only without the light, pearls become stones, and the boat flounders.
Being here is simple and beautiful, the way life on an island almost always is. We are lonely, but we listen for the voices calling across the waves, and watch what the tide sweeps in. Sometimes we find worn bits of bottles long ago ruined and discarded, still glowing with a little of the color and light they once possessed. We collect those lost gems, worthless to everyone but us.
Storms come, unexpected and ferocious, from any and all directions, as if determined to put out all the light. We ride them out, afraid, hopeful, terrified, defiant. We promise ourselves that the light will return when the wind stops howling and the waves calm. If we're fortunate, another storm won't come until we've picked up and put ourselves back in order. If we're not, we ride the next one, and if enough keep rolling in, we learn to look through the eyes of the storm for the light.
Tomorrow is almost here. You won't be with us, but the words will. We will chase them and catch them in our story bottles, and throw that captured light into the dark unknown. Then we will listen for your voices, and watch the tides as we touch the long strands of sea glass that we wear, our only jewels, our precious talismans.