The Old Blog in the Desert

The lighthouse stood alone, tall and steady, its light slicing through the mist. It cut into the gray night, a small and wavering promise, but it was there.

Below, waves slammed against the rocks. The sound filled the empty air, like the echoes inside me.

Every night, I climbed those stairs, one after another, the rhythm keeping time with the weight I carried. It wasn’t the climb that took my breath but the past that clung to me like salt on my skin.

The light shuddered and cast long shadows against the walls, shadows of things I couldn’t shake. Each flash reminded me of storms I’d never sailed past.

“Why do I keep coming back?” I asked the wind.

But the sea answered in its way, in a roar that didn’t care. I thought about the things I’d lost, the laughter that got swallowed along the way. Each wave beat against the rocks, the same way my grief came—again and again, never relenting.

I shut my eyes, letting the cold of the night soak in. The lighthouse kept me close; it was both refuge and prison.

The walls held onto cries that hadn’t saved anyone. In the mist–I sensed them drifting as if they were almost close enough to touch but faded away nonetheless.

“Keep shining,” I told the light.

I felt the flicker in me, too. Maybe I’d vanish one day, lost to the fog, but the thought didn’t scare me. The sea was calling for surrender, and the promise of peace was in its depths.

But I wasn’t ready–not tonight.

I drew in a long breath, tasting salt and cold air. I opened my eyes as the light swept across the dark sea.

I didn’t know where I was going, but maybe it didn’t matter. The light wasn’t a guide, not for finding my home, but it was there.

It kept me here, steady as it could, in the center of the dark.