My eyes lightly brush past the quiet, remote mountains as I peer from the door of my hut. The humid, vaporous clouds hang over the rolling hills in composed, tranquil balance. The calm river is pulled past by gently current, making noise for which the birds to build upon and sing over. I chose this place because of the view. It conciliated me, but brought me no closer to peace. The wrecked boat on the river's other side began to warp and darken. Moss was creeping up to climb on board, eager but confident in its drive to reclaim the lumber and break down the sails. I was saddened to see the boats begin to bow, but I suppose I was troubled more that they were there at all.
I dreamed of growing old and swooning like those boats. I dreamt of moss covering me with beautiful arrays of green that sparkled with beads of water that shined like the emperor's own diamonds. I wished only to fall asleep, exiled and alone and finding unmatched and absolute tranquility. I would proliferate under the cloud shrouded, grey haze sun. I wished to behold without seeing, and sing without speaking. What I saw was only a man alone in the woods that wished to be reborn and see his past erased. A slate swept clean, kept from following past and through the thick, vines and leaves. All I wanted was to be every moment and be one with something great as this amicable green ocean. I wanted to sink into its waves and swaying sun sheened fog.
I was startled awake from my dreams with a loud crack and boom early in the first light of the morning. I saw from my hill in the dim morning the ship's mast bend and snap, the wood's dark strands hanging between where the break began before slowly splitting the damp wood. The mast fell back and crashed through the weakened obsidian shell of the boat.
I smiled, but my lips trembled. I stood tall, but my knees buckled. I let go of myself, but ached for my valedictory self.