delve forth into sea-foam-crested dreams.
the ocean is a great metaphor for hope:
unfathomably deep, undeniable,
stretching out endlessly in every direction
but so easy
to get lost in.
rush on into crusty-edged desires,
or things with no edges at all;
because it’s okay not to know
where something starts and another ends.
sometimes the only way to find out
revel in your sadness and your gladness.
they only exist because of each other.
every deep passion you have is a sail
and every day is a fresh wind.
sooner or later
you have to build a boat.