Thrown here by a treacherous storm, the wayfarer has been stranded for 2 months now. He has checked the tides carefully and studied the wind currents for every minute detail. He has formulated many plans to leave this place of lonely contemplation.
He has watched the ships come and go near the edge of the horizon and waved to many. He rated them all with glee and hoped and dreamed of salvation. He studied their shapes and hoped for miracles.
As the ships he has come to know pass other ships to and fro, he becomes just a blurr in the memory of many who knew him.
He sets his sail on a flimsy raft of reeds and sticks, and drifts into history. No need to wave. No need to say good-bye. He bids farwell to desitny.
