Estelle's Writing

It was fitting, she supposed. A lighthouse. A beacon of hope. A guide to lost travellers. A link between known land and unknown waters. The final rampart between the darkness of the earth and of the sea. How poetic. Of course, as heroic as lighthouses were, they were also importantly, incredibly, tragically lonely. It must get tiring, she thought, the burden of carrying all these lost souls back to the shore. Staring at the ocean, on top of the lighthouse amid the receding tide, she wondered how many steps it would take to reach it. (To reach You.) How the horizon beckoned You, then playfully resisted until You sank into the waves. How You sang over the wind, calling her like a seagull to Your nest. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it back around her ear. Where it belonged. She imagined it was You, playfully batting at her locks like a kitten. She cried, and the tears lost themselves in the ocean. They will be carried through the waves, and maybe, they...