There's an ocean between you and I, I thought some time ago. A train and you're on the other side, and the train keeps moving. When it passes by and I think it's safe to cross, I hear the horns, the slow roar of wheels against tracks, and I'm scared.
Frustrada. And when I set up my sails and I float through and pray for clear weather, I see the horizon and the small speck of land and it never grows, I never get closer. My compass points north I
know I'm going the right way, the stars at night tell me I'm sailing the right way, why don't I ever reach it? The land, the other side? It used to be a river, now it's an ocean. It used to be train tracks, now it's entire stations, in different countries, and all I see is a lone figure waving its slender arms and I squint but I can never see its face, I supposed it was you, most times. But I was wrong. My despair tricks me, as it often did, as it often does.
You're the ocean, the train. You're still there for me, always. You never let me reach the other side. I've dreamed about it for so long. To make a letter and fill it up with my perfume and tell each person which things I want them to have and sail the boat, cross the tracks. Meet you again. But you never let me. And I get angry with you, see? How selfish of me, of you. To let me live a life without you, to be angry at you leaving when you hurt so much, when already a day by your side is good enough to last me a lifetime. You were worth the pain, the voicelessness, the days of emptiness. And that's when I remember that you're the ocean, the everlasting train and its slow thunder. You know that crossing the other side isn't just a day. And though I burn with the longing to bury my nose against your chest and hear the rumble of your voice again, I won't look for your land anymore. It's a country I don't belong to, even if I sing the anthem and paint myself in its colors, it's not my time or my place. I'll try my hardest not to. I've broken many promises I made you; hurting myself, not telling my parents, hiding myself. But I'll try. I'm strong, and you know it. I'll try to act like it. It won't happen again, Mati. I won't try to look for you anymore, because you're here, in a different way, like remembering which teacher taught you to read or an old friend from childhood. You're my ocean, and I'll walk along the tracks to the station and take the train and see where it takes me.
Hopefully, to Iceland.
