We’d drink together in silence along the sea wall, watching the lights of distant ships plod gently along like man-made glaciers of economic intent, imagining how the worn sides of those loveless rust-red hulks might shudder as they would cleave, cruel and brutal, through the infinite black water. We could taste salt on our lips, the lingering saline kiss of the oceanic wind reinvigorated with each shallow whiskey sip from the shared bottle, each pull a little more bittersweet than the last as the tide line of ethanol dipped lower and lower within the confines of smooth, simple glass. When the flask was at last dry, round bottom tipped high and held there, pointing like an accusatory finger up at heaven, I’d strain in the dim to try and see your lips move as you breathed silent secrets into the bottle. Never a sound nor a sigh, only those quick muted words pushed sweet and warm into a new vessel, and then the sudden swing of your thin arm as you threw the bottle out to sea. The ocean would moan, would shift and strain in her fruitless search for a comfortable position, and I’d wonder at the weight of all the truths she’d hidden someplace deep.