“I'll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don't choose. We'll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn't carry us. There's nothing to do but salute it from the shore.” --Cheryl Strayed
i pull up the dripping anchor of the ship i have held on to the tightest
i grip the slick chain
pausing
to look at the ship tethered to my own.
it hurts, not my eyes, but my guts and my heart and the unknown place in my body where my ego resides.
this ship; the ghost ship of me.
what i should have been
and could have been
and am not.
these are not the lives of others' ships i stare at with envy and want.
this is myself.
if i had been less of a mess.
if i had kept the barnacles off each day.
if i had chose to sink anchor here or there.
the ship of right choices
but it's a ghost.
i see that now.
a ghost, not because its unearthly deck won't support me
but it doesn't exist.
that other life.
the life with choices, but without mistakes.
the life of smooth waters and full sails.
the life of pressed woolen uniforms and bright brass outlooks.
i've been holding the anchor of this ship too long
tonight, i wave it on.
i finally let the ship, that has been straining and pulling, go.
the wind catches and the relief in the sails sigh.
i set my own mossy anchor here.
in the murky waters.
it's quiet
and lonely without the distraction of my ghost ship.
that ship becomes smaller in the distance and its relief becomes larger,
to no longer carry the burden of unmet possibility for me.
i swab the deck.
and stop checking the progress of my ghost ship through the spyglasss.
if i chase after it now, i will drown; boarding a ship that cannot sustain me.
a ship crafted of vapors, spun sugar and a thousand vanished dreams.
i swab the deck.
and splash my worn boots in the leftovers of last nights' storm.
cold.
wet.
tired.
real.
like the drips of water off the edge of the oars.
the moon.
chapped lip kisses.
sore muscles.
dust through the sunlight.
and me.
i swab the deck
and the salty tears in my eyes
grief for the life gone,
and the work ahead
and the sharp pain, in the place where i know my soul resides, brought by the setting sun's beauty.
i swab my deck
and claim my ship.
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