Nothing to worry about i think.....
I had never booked a ship before.
Didn’t know a damn thing about tides or winds. Didn't care. All I knew was I had to find her, the girl who loved me once, or at least pretended well enough for me to believe it. My heart, foolish and drunk on memories, told me maybe she was waiting somewhere... on an island, on a dock, by a lighthouse maybe, missing me just like I missed her.
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
She stopped texting one day. Not suddenly, not like a door slamming, but like a candle burning out slowly. Replies got colder. Voice notes lost warmth. Her laugh during video calls? It used to light up my ribcage. Then it just echoed, hollow, like she was laughing at something I couldn’t see.
But I stayed. I held on.
When I should’ve let go, I waited.
When I should’ve walked away, I stood there, foolishly hoping.
And when she finally disappeared completely, I blamed myself.
Over and over again.
Maybe I talked too much.
Maybe I wasn’t interesting enough.
Maybe I loved her too hard, too heavy, like my love was something she needed saving from.
So I boarded a ship.
Like a character in a sad novel.
Like love was a compass that could guide me to her — to the version of her I remembered. Not the one who left.
The sea welcomed me with silence.
Every wave reminded me of the way she used to say my name.
I whispered to the ocean, “Have you seen her? Do you know where she went?”
But the ocean said nothing.
Every island we passed, I looked for her.
Clung to the edges of the ship, scanning for shadows that looked like her silhouette.
Asked strangers if they’d seen someone like her, eyes like thunder, smile like sin.
No one had.
Still, I blamed myself.
Maybe she was tired of my softness.
Maybe she wanted someone louder, colder, better.
Maybe I made love too fragile, too honest.
Maybe I was just… too much.
Maybe I made her run.
The storm came like karma.
Not fast, not instantly, just like her silence.
A whisper in the wind. A change in the air.
Then the clouds rolled in, darker than my thoughts.
I should’ve turned back.
But I couldn’t.
Because I was still hoping.
Still believing maybe she needed saving.
Still praying maybe she’d be at the next stop, waving from the dock, ready to explain everything.
The waves rose, furious.
The thunder struck like it knew me by name.
Like the sky was mad I boarded that ship for her.
Like the storm was screaming, “She left you! She’s gone! Why won’t you accept it?”
But I didn’t listen.
Because even storms sounded better than her silence.
Water poured over the deck.
People screamed.
The crew panicked.
And I? I stood there. Still searching. Still looking for her face in the waves. Still waiting for a miracle that wasn’t coming.
The ship cracked.
Wood splintered like promises.
The mast fell like my hope.
And the sea, it didn’t swallow me kindly. It dragged me down like it, too, was tired of my begging.
Still, I followed the sinking wreckage.
I dove after it.
I thought, maybe she’s down there — waiting at the bottom of the ocean like an answer I never got.
But she wasn’t.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
Say it again.
She’s all gone.
I had never sailed before. I wasn’t even supposed to be on the water. But heartbreak? It makes you do stupid things. It makes you gamble everything on ghosts and echoes. It makes you book ships in storms thinking maybe love can defy nature.
But it doesn’t.
The sea doesn’t care about heartbreak.
The wind doesn’t stop for pain.
The thunder doesn’t pause because your heart is in shambles.
And her?
She’s not looking back.
She never was.
She’s not thinking of me.
She’s not wondering if I’m okay.
She’s not hoping I find her.
Because she made sure I wouldn’t.
She walked away.
Slipped out of my life like a thief in the night.
No note. No reason. No goodbye.
And all I’ve done since is blame myself.
For loving her more than I loved myself.
For holding on when she’d already let go.
For chasing someone who never wanted to be found.
So I followed the ship as it sank.
Not because I wanted to die.
But because I didn’t know how to live without her.
I drowned in every memory.
In every whispered I love you that never meant what I thought it did.
In every plan we made that was just talk to her, but gospel to me.
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
Because I made love my compass.
Because I trusted a lie.
Because I kept searching when she made it clear she never wanted to be found.
I went down with the ship.
Heart first.
Hope second.
Breath last.
And even as the water closed over me, I asked one last time:
“Why don’t you love me back?”
But no one answered.
Not her.
Not the sea.
Not even the silence.
Because she’s gone.
She’s all gone.
And I followed.