Walter stood upon the shore with the waves lapping against his ankles when he saw a glimmer of light out of the corner of his eye. There was a bottle being nudged towards him like a dog with a stick when it wants attention. He went to fetch it, and his heart leaped as he held it up and saw what appeared to be a note preserved inside.
He remembered the note that he had entrusted to the ocean all those years ago when the years were more hopeful than they were now. Back when the world was vast and full of the possibilities of where he could go and where he would end up. He opened the bottle and took out the letter, wondering about the person who had written it, where they had been, where it had been sent from.
But Walter’s heart sank at the familiarity of the words written on the letter.
"All I have to say is in this bottle."
The words were still legible but had been worn and faded by the years. He tried to recall all the words he’d spoken into the bottle just before he’d sealed it. He had inwardly hoped they would be passed on to the next person who opened the bottle. As if the words would remain within the breath he exhaled into it, preserved like some musky odour, and be heard intrinsically by the recipient.
He’d encapsulated his entire soul into it, which he was now desperately trying to grasp onto, instantaneously forgetting what he was remembering as he helplessly let it be carried off by the wind.
He remembered the note that he had entrusted to the ocean all those years ago when the years were more hopeful than they were now. Back when the world was vast and full of the possibilities of where he could go and where he would end up. He opened the bottle and took out the letter, wondering about the person who had written it, where they had been, where it had been sent from.
But Walter’s heart sank at the familiarity of the words written on the letter.
"All I have to say is in this bottle."
The words were still legible but had been worn and faded by the years. He tried to recall all the words he’d spoken into the bottle just before he’d sealed it. He had inwardly hoped they would be passed on to the next person who opened the bottle. As if the words would remain within the breath he exhaled into it, preserved like some musky odour, and be heard intrinsically by the recipient.
He’d encapsulated his entire soul into it, which he was now desperately trying to grasp onto, instantaneously forgetting what he was remembering as he helplessly let it be carried off by the wind.
