In my spare time, I sank ships.
In the years before me, there had been no ocean.
My broken heart was the cure for this.
I cried them into existence, left pieces of myself in the droplets.
The waves were my anger, the breezes my sorrow.
The storms were my passion.
And my passion had been great. Wild. Deep.
Even the residue of it, dissolved in the tears that I had wept,
was strong enough to overpower the ships that dared cross me.
I smashed hulls, snapped masts in two, snapped Men in two.
My lover never dared breach the waves
for fear of me.
And that was my revenge.