I have an idea.
I want to take a short drive to the west today.
There’s a little spot there, where you can take your car almost out to the shore. It is surrounded by trees on three sides, but on the other…
Ocean. The edge of the harbour, looking out to the strait that connects to the Atlantic.
I’ve sailed on it, cruised on it, fished on it, swam in it, and now I want to use it for something different.
This little cove is ideal for dusks watching sunsets. And when the sun goes down, it is ideal for making out like I’m shipping out to war in the morning. I’ll show you.
And I’ll show you.
You’re not here today, but I want to make that drive anyway.
A love song will play on the radio – they’re all love songs, aren’t they? – and the breeze will brazenly burst in through an open window.
I’ll park and walk the last thirty or forty feet to the water, utilizing decades of experience with walking on slippery, uneven, and moving rocks to get there.
I’ll look out at the giant container ship in the distance, heading over shimmering water to some port in the Great Lakes where, in simpler times, crewmen would race off the ship with pockets full of change to call loves who it seemed were just in their arms.
I’ll inhale to take in the smell of salt and spruce and spring.
I’ll listen to small waves barely lapping at the rocky shore.
And then I will wind up and toss a bottle as far as I can.
A clear wine bottle. It once housed the product of years of patience and many hours of hard work.
I was driving along the harbor this morning and noticed how high the tide is. It’ll be falling soon. That will be the perfect time to launch my bobbing love note to you.
Before I take the drive, of course, I’ll put a message in a bottle.
As I write, my hand will shake with excitement and nervousness and desire and possibility.
I want to pour every damn emotion I’m feeling into it. I want to put it all way, way out there. I want to compare our potential love to all the great romances back through time. And I want to show you how we’ll crush them all. I want to put this all on a piece of paper, carefully roll it up, slide it in the prettiest bottle I can find, and toss it into the sea.
And then I’ll wait.
Patiently but excitedly. Confidently but nervously.
Hoping that it finds you at the right moment when you’re open to this. To me. To us.
And when you uncork the bottle and delicately extract the paper, I want you to unroll it quickly and devour the contents hungrily. I want the words to land. I want the emotions to catch your breath. I want you to hold the paper in your slightly trembling hands.
I want you to nod and smile through your tears.
You get it.
I get you.