An island called — Rock Removed.

I’ve been sailing in long circles
Throwing stones into rivers
Mishearing your false whispers.

Altitude corrections, navigation maps burnt down, I draw and draw and draw on white papers, new-true-blue directions.

And I have come to the point of no return, equatorial secrets
Mon ami, I wish you nothing but the best, and all the success
Have you ever wished for
And more
& more
.
I will be here, still.
Unhurried.
Even.

A rock removed or not,
my mind, drifts elsewhere.
A virgin island.

J’arrive.

Photo by Benjamin Behre on Unsplash