I haven’t spoken to my wife since departing for my journey. I promised her that I would send word of my condition at the Lisbon Seaport but there was no time to send a letter. I know that my wife will hear word of the Ambassador sinking and fear the worst. I imagine her writing me a goodbye letter, showing our young son that he too must say goodbye to his father. The letter would tell me all the things that she never had a chance to say, all the promises of our life together, broken and laid to rest at sea. The letter would be watered in her tears, and because she couldn’t mail the letter, she would place it in a bottle and toss it into the vast Atlantic Ocean.
A parchment letter soaked with salty tears, softly scented with a young woman’s lilac water and placed in a clear glass bottle, set a-drift among the aquamarine waves of the Atlantic Ocean.