The waves toss us about, from one side to the other, sometimes coming dangerously close to sailing over the edge of our world.
The winds drive us in a meandering path, sometimes touching the same waypoint over and over, with no apparent destination or schedule.
We don't mind. It's our intent. We've given up the helm. This is how it's supposed to be. Us, enjoying our journey together, focused on each other, not on a destination.
We are lost, but need no life jackets, no inflatable rafts, no emergency flares; we are lost in each other, happy to be so far from anyone else.
We cling to each other, each rescuing the other from a life of solitude and loneliness, from a life of longing to know love.
Morning will come.
It will bring with it the dangerous calm that so easily besets us; the calm that pulls us down deep into life's stress and business; down into the depths of cold indifference; down to the Marianas Trench of selfishness and apathy.
We must know this, expect it, prepare for it. We rest now, knowing we can't avoid the morning, but knowing we must soon swim and fight our way back to this lifeboat we now hide in, else we drown from lack of each other's air.
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