The anchor searches for solid ground, the ship gets steered by the winds and currents. I look for rays of hope from some distant lighthouse. As the clouds bring memories, I am reminded of people waiting for me at the shore.
The sea has become my home, as I flow and ebb with it and go places without reason or direction. I have given up the purpose. I have lost the intention of finding land. I am neither happy nor sad in the sea. It crashes waves of inspiration from all sides of the ship, pushing it forward sometimes and rocking it otherwise. I have become tired of reading the skies, looking for stars and finding directions. I have grown sick of learning from my mistakes. My chances of finding land are minimal, my future looks bleak like the mist forming weird shapes at the horizon.
I feel grateful and guilty, for the sea and the sky which tried to show the way, for the lessons learned that went in vain, for the people who wait for me at the shore, but I have decided to float along, go to places where the sea takes me and drown when it calls.