(disclosure: I'm not any good as a writer...my early apologies)
My body is covered in salt. I don't know what it is to love anymore, or what it is to be loved. I only know the coarse feeling of line against my calloused hands and the wet rain against my cheek. I know the passing of time only by the bells, the sun and the glittering stars. For 6 days rain has clouded the latter two. It has dampened both myself and the ship--the ship leaks and my spirit drowns in icy freshwater. The galley stove warms my toes and fingers in the day, but the nights leave me bitterly cold with only the Maine fog to encircle me as I try to drift to sleep. No one is there to talk to but the pictures of people that seem no more than a faded memory. Maine and the North Atlantic are a world away from them. My blood has been replaced with saltwater. And my last memory was fear that the anchor was dragged--the chain merely rubbed against the hauser, clanking angrily. Hell's half acre, eh? Some place to seek safe haven on a ship. I'll drift off after the scare into a restless sleep full of dreams that almost seem like omens of things to come--some to me and then others to those miles away. My fears and worries haunt me as the sea rocks me to sleep. I barely feel the churning of the ocean during the day as she tosses the ship. I merely think of my heartbeat and burning palms as I raise sail after sail. This is my first three-masted schooner. But the weather is grim and the air cold--I find no desire to sail anymore. I only desire a hot cup of tea and a warm bed to sleep in. Even my hair smells of salt. My fingers are covered with cuts and abrasions from galley knives and lobster claws. My back aches and my sunburn--very short-lived--fades away. I decided against a shower today. Yesterday wind and rain ravaged my body as I showered. The hot water was not enough to stop the Maine weather from taking hold of me. I thought the sea would love me as she always does, but I can only see her with a cold, unforgiving eye. I have no solace in her. I have no human for solace. I merely have the salt in my veins to remind me I'm alive and its bitter taste on my tongue to remind me I'm a sailor.
The scary thing is right now I wish I was still there. Something about staring at a bright full moon at 4am, pacing the deck of a sleeping ship and a still harbor. Even with all the misery of Maine, I'd trade this for it. I was sailing in the North Atlantic. I was doing something I loved no matter how lonely I felt. Now I'm lonely and doing something I'm not sure is right. I miss the taste of salt. I'm not the same without it.
