I wrote our love story in a paper boat and let it set sail on that murky river of regret. The waters were full of disappointments, strewn with bitter tears and broken hearts. It was polluted with angst and distrust, contaminated with betrayal and sadness. These were the waters in which anyone would never wish to drown in.
But against the whirlpools of depression, through the waves of grief, and past the storms of conflict, that tiny boat sailed on. It has little tears and splashes, but it stubbornly sails on. It may be battered. It certainly is imperfect. It has its own flaws, and it may need repairs more often than not. And it can sink. But the fact that it doesn't makes it special.
The dark waters are strong, but the paper boat held on.
There is a time that will come when maybe the boat will sink, that it will wash ashore as a pulpy, nondescript piece of garbage. But we will know its story, the waters it has crossed and the storms it has weathered.
And that will be enough. It has proved its worth, and met its nautical miles. It has told its story, and made one of its own. Of how to fight and let go. To hold on, to sail on, and find the dock it belongs to.