The storms had not yet ceased completely, but the fast-blowing winds had stilled, letting the rain pour down perpendicular to the horizon. It was enough for him to leave the cockpit while the ship stood steady in the middle of light rain, if only just for a second, to determine what direction to set his sails.

Roaming the deck outside, the weather still somber but quiet enough for him to pause, he looked to the north and the south, and he glanced to the east with discomfort as all that stretched before him were deep, dark oceans and solemn, weeping skies.

To the distant west, however, lay an island too far away. Its sand shimmered, and wisps of green and brown peeked out, catching his interest.

For a while, just long enough for the moon to fill up at least once, he wondered whether the island would be empty of creatures that might maul him.

His thoughts, a bit cautiously but mostly a bit naively, poured out just as the rain did, and he tried to keep them as simple as he possibly could.

Until his eyes landed on the bottle. The waters scared him; he’d only ever seen storms as he tried to build his ship strong to sail smoothly. So this clean bottle in the middle of the ocean’s emptiness piqued his interest.

He let down a net and caught hold of it, opening the bottle to find a small letter.

The letter, from her—you’ll know who she is soon enough—said how beautiful his ship looked from the island. It was so small, seemingly insignificant, but it made him feel real. As if he existed outside the vortex of endless waves in order to find the right island.

Without much thought, he sent a letter back.

There was so much distance between the land and the ship that one would think it impossible for the bottle to always reach the ship or land safely on the island without getting lost.

But it always reached the right destination. Always.

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And they thought it was a miracle that the waters made sure they’d keep communicating, or even that the bottle had found the ship safely the first round.

It was a miracle, but a miracle that saved them.

They spoke to each other, steadily more and more comfortably. The ship stood still.

At first it was merely sometimes when he’d change his ship, add a sculpture carved of wood once or twice, sculpting the storms he’d seen. And then he started to respond to her with his thoughts on the growing beauty of the island each day.

Eventually they talked of his storms and hers. She had once been adamant that she’d remain a mystery for their small journey. He didn’t mind; he hadn’t thought their journey was small to begin with.

Each day he grew reluctant as he thought about sailing back to the storms in the east, afraid his ship might fail to hold when the winter came.

Eventually he stayed, and turned his ship to stand still, facing west. She had been quite surprised, especially since he had said he wouldn’t want her on the boat, or that even if she came aboard, he wouldn’t be there anymore, for he’d be gone, having become one with the skies.

But for her he stayed.

They continued talking, and she sometimes told him of how, although the island is mostly nice and whole, she still felt stuck in storms she herself had witnessed. He told her of how the wind had started blowing again, but that he’d try to steer his ship safely to the island despite the brewing storm.

A sculpture or two has fallen since then, destroyed by new storms, and the island has lost a few greens too. They tell each other of them while they prepare to meet. They will keep each other going until they do. Every day, as storms recede and then are dredged back up.

They talk, and become constants, holding each other.

They speak of being together, and how she’d welcome him to her home once he was free of the storms, and how she’d welcome him to know the people on her island. She speaks of making sure the island would be safe and steady for him.

She speaks of how, despite her own storms that reach the island, she won’t let go. And he tells her that despite the storm at sea, he’ll make it safely to her island and hold on just as tightly.

There’s so much more to the story, so much, so much more. And if only you could put its beauty down into words, maybe its reality would change the constellations and alter existence with their love. But it’s still going; it still has a lot to see and live together.

And they promise to make sure the story keeps going for as long as it can. For as long as they can make it. And they promise to help each other make it as well.

They’ll make it. They’ll make it. And the story will grow much longer and lighter. And they’ll be together. They’ll be together.

And they’ll help the storms recede and the rain to stop, and the sun will shine bright, and the winds will be of relief and safety and love.