In the sea of silence

Every day I wrote the same words with a special dedication. The calligraphy neat and adorned with the patience that the years grant, the paper without wrinkles and foldable, the empty bottle and the crystal clean. The composition was perfect, each element was part of the whole, but that didn't matter, for Elisha none of that had any meaning.

Every day, after depositing the message in the bottle, I was going to Main Avenue, crossed the second alley, deposited the bottle on the floor, and gave three soft touches on the door. Then I returned after my steps, and in the trash, I contemplated the bottle of the previous day.

Every day was the same.

The work that I dedicated to that messaging was my way of apologizing to her, but it didn't seem to work. I felt like a castaway in the solitude of her silence. I wonder if this is her punishment, I wonder if she forgot me, or if she even remembers me. I don't know. I don't care. I can only write this message on the bottle and send it until one day she comes to rescue me.