Thank you for having been there for me that day!
That was all. I looked. I turned the page. I searched for more pages. I even looked for more bottles.
I looked at my sand castles hoping to find an answer there. Stupid, right? I hadn’t built sand castles in ages. But John’s kid had insisted and eventually it had been fun til the waves brought the bottle right to my feet. As if I was the consignee. As if the sender had known it would reach me. Exactly today, on this God foresaken beach.
What if it was me who wrote this? That day, when you came and saved my soul from restless roaming. When you looked into my eyes and told me that everything would be ok. And everything eventually was, because you saved me. And I could never thank you.
Because of that, I wrote this message, put it in a bottle, threw it into the ocean, hoping to reach you some day. Hoping it will cross all the oceans of time and oblivion.
And because it came back to me, does this mean it never reached you? That would be sad, indeed…
Or it is maybe for the best. I should really call you some day and tell you. Loud and clear.