He stood there on his boat, looking out at the trail it was leaving, and he was at peace. At peace with himself, at peace with life, at peace with what he was. He was tired of the turmoil of the mundane. After all, doesn’t everyone?

But here he didn’t feel any of it. The pressures, the stress, the constant nagging in his heart, the constant worrying about what to do next. It all already seemed alien to him. The sea had always soothed him in a way even his own mother could not. This was absolute, pure bliss.  He didn’t care if he died at this very moment. He was content and happy and peaceful.

The melody of the waves, the smell of the sea, the mesmerizing shades of the sky, the playful breeze on his face, in his hair and down to his bone made him want to freeze the moment. And it had always been the same. All his life. The sea called out to him, played with him, lulled him to sleep, at times. Even when he lived away from her, for years at a time, she tugged at him and his heart. Until finally he had decided to leave everything and live close to her, where he belonged. As he stood there savouring every moment of happiness and forgetting everything that had ever bothered him, he knew one thing for sure:

He was Home.


This post has been written for picture it & write by ermilia