sol.ace_r

A single glass bottle drifts on the sea.
Its cap disappeared long ago, and there is nothing inside.
The waves take little interest in that fact.

The bottle does not choose which side to float on.
It goes wherever it is pushed, overturns, then rights itself again.
Because it is empty, it does not sink.

On days when the sunlight is strong, light enters the bottle.
Light shattered by the ripples grazes along the inner walls.
It may once have been held in someone’s hand.
Now only the trace of that remains.

The waves do not handle the bottle gently.
They strike it, drag it along, and let it go.
It seems as if it might break, yet it still keeps its shape.

There is no letter inside, nothing at all.
There is no one waiting.
Perhaps that is why the bottle is light.
It is the perfect weight for drifting without a destination.

Some days it is carried far away by the current; on others, it circles the same place.
The bottle does not know the difference.

At night it wears down to the color of the sea; by day it holds the sky.
It is not empty, only changing with whatever enters it at the time.

From a distance, it might look like trash.
Up close, it makes you want to reach out for no clear reason.
But the sea does not easily allow that hand.

The glass bottle is still drifting today.
Without the thought that it must go somewhere, without the burden of delivering anything.

Simply unbroken, still in a state where it can remain afloat, it drifts on the waves.