She was a mariner, although boat trips made her seasick. Standing by the shore as he set off on yet another trip, she would watch but never wave goodbye. Then turn back into herself once he had gone. He was a world traveler, who always thought his Penelope would be there, waiting for him. Until she wasn't. He knows, but he still dreams. Even trips to the bathroom give him hope that it has all been a nightmare. That he'll return and there she will be, as before. His shore. His shelter.
His balance is gone. He walks but doesn't trust himself. Travel presents itself, yet he hesitates. The journey has lost its meaning for him. The mariner cannot tell him what direction he should take. He never knew how she did it. Never asked. She held the key. Made sure the wind blew him to and from his destination. She was his courage. His determination. Without her, the wind only rustles his hair. The sails refuse to budge. The ship stays moored. He sinks.
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