I've made an honest effort my whole life to decide which is which, and I only think of it now after reading some stupid short story about a hapless loner who falls in love with a slightly damaged princess- imagine that. so which are the things that the sea steals away from you, and what do you throw overboard? I've come to hope that she only takes what she needs and leaves the rest for me to decide.
only a short while ago, I had written into my moral code a very simple rule- only own what you can carry on your back. it was a good rule and served me well. it was practical, really. I hadn't lived in one place for more than a matter of months since I'd waved goodbye to my mamma's house. I had no need for knick knacks and floor rugs. I had no desire for permanence. I slept only when exhausted. I dreamt only in color. I longed only for distance. I worked only for sustenance. I could have never imagined the enormity, the nearly unbareable weight of my love for you people. this simple rule forced me to take notice of the people around me, and what they deem important- the terms they use to define themselves- the paths they'd beaten into the ground- and that my search for god, the universe, and all that follows after does not require a road atlas.
so what does she take, and what do you offer?
(I'm almost certain that she gets it all in the end anyway.)