The big fish.

The one who got away.

An answered text from “Ishmael” on a melancholy day rekindled a dual need to be wanted and to patch holes in hearts.

A perfect wave for an empath to ride in upon.

Through our small porthole shone glimpses of light.

Chapters for bait to try to catch years of water under our bridge.

Minds and hearts fill in the gaps for the stories we long to hear, the stories we want to believe

But you caught the story before I told you.

And for a moment, even the wrong time stood still