Castaway

How hard is it to look to everyone else and see empathy, how strong is the feeling of obliteration
and how acidic is to know how my path is made in the absence of much care from others.
How troubling it is to love such a normal day life unable to share, or to be remembered for oneself.
How pleasant is should be to sail a boat into the ocean and around the coast and see from a far the towns.
Rivers coming into the ocean to meet and embrace the waves, a thing they lacked for so much distances.
Who, who is this now sailor that drives a ship from wave to wave into the sea that no one sees.
I, as eye, I look to see the water of blue colour much like the songs I listen, much like the blue of indigo.
Native to somewhere I haven’t visit yet, I am from the North pole, a white and brown Yeti.
A creature, a spirit… something that feels things no one else does, a golem, a flower with pollen.
that travels far and gets to be, never be a seed or a flower again, it is but dust to windy sails.
Wind, that drives this boat, and about bridges there were never built, this sail drives the sailor.
Into the place where others live, and him being the only one with a ship.
leaves him to be the only one that can travel, he goes, he visits the other margin,
but, but he would like to show what life is in this island to another….

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