Jakob Eiseman, Editor-in-Chief
Header Image: A24 — “The Lighthouse”
Into an ocean of my own making.
Every single minute of the surface seen,
Is a mile dragged underneath. I see the horizon.
Exhaustion sets in early on as the sun fades.
But no amount of rest helps. I fall deep.
The waters will never take me,
They move and shake me,
They taunt me,
They even seem friendly,
But they will never release me. Indecisive.
If one state of my condition were to give in to the fall,
The rest might succeed. But if only a part of me succeeds whose goals are met?
The line has been spread too thin, one dimension is being torn apart.
What will become of me when I retire from the sunlight?
Will I feel lost, found, or will I feel nothing?
Falling and drowning deeper still.
The waves never stop.
They just change.