Status Updates From Lighthousekeeping

Tristan, the world was made so that we could find each other in it. Already the world is fading, returning to the sea. My pulse ebbs with yours. Death frees us from the torment of parting. I cannot part with you. I am you.

The world is nothing. Love formed it.
The world vanishes without trace.
What is left is love.

You had crept along my blood vessels through the wound, and the blood that circulates returns to the heart. You circulated me, you made me blush like a girl in the hoop of your hands. You were in my arteries and my lymph, you were the colour just under my skin, and if I cut myself, it was you I bled. Red Isolde, alive on my fingers, and always the force of blood pushing you back to my heart.

This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.

It’s better if I think of my life like that – part miracle, part madness. It’s better if I accept that I can’t control any of the things that matter. My life is a trail of shipwrecks and set-sails. There are no arrivals, no destinations; there are only sandbanks and shipwreck; then another boat, another tide.

Don’t regret your life, child. It will pass soon enough.

Miss Pinch came visiting, and asked me what I intended to do with my Future. She spoke about it as though it were an incurable disease.

‘Keep me by you,’ he said. It was almost a prayer, but like most of us he prayed for one thing, and set his life on course for elsewhere.

Tell me a story, Pew.
What kind of story, child?
A story with a happy ending.
There’s no such thing in all the world.
As a happy ending?
As an ending.

The lighthouse is a known point in the darkness.

Where to begin? Difficult at the best of times, harder when you have to begin again.

There were two Atlantics; one outside the lighthouse, and one inside me.
The one inside me had no string of guiding lights.

It was a long story, and like most of the stories in the world, never finished. There was an ending there always is – but the story went on past the ending – it always does.

We are lucky, even the worst of us, because daylight comes.

"I love you.
The three most difficult words in the world.
But what else can I say?"

reading this alongside my rewatch of Black Sails may kill me in a kind way