Matey, just go and fetch seashells....pirate shanties verses said that beautiful things made someone's heart pleased.
Fiddlesticks!
Midnights were always sullen for her!
It Cursed the dreamland of her teenage era.
Grabbing those blankets, she walked out from the ship's cabin and her feet brought her to the ship's helm.
She felt welcomed by the whiff of icy wind.
How she had missed the iris with a hint of patchouli notes still lingering within her tucked shirt....it soothes her night’s troubles.
She had accepted lonesome distance.
She had accepted, eased.
Accepted that ghost pirate may come over and lurked her sullen cabin at midnight.
She had accepted warm notes of iris as her antidote when panic and sensitivity pounced her around people she had hoped for closeness.
She looked at the distant aisles while watching the atmosphere fully illuminated by the sun. Wherein she can only hear the calm rocks and creaking of ship's sole in shallow water.
Vast of salty water mirrors the depth of her longing like a sandcastle washed away by the tides.
After some time she decided to rest again in her cabin, humidity of salt air intensifies the notes of iris, she breathed and laid her back down on the duvets. Her consciousness brought back the fragments of mosaic coming together to form a complete image of her "sunbeam" in his lavender loose pirate shirt wearing his favorite linen bandana... at Port Royal.
תמשיך
YOU ARE READING
Lonesome ship's cabin
Poesia*collections of spare nightmares and escapism *sort of my dreamland, all of us is not perfect when it comes to writing literary pieces, so do I. *time travel inspired stories
