There was this water tower. In the dark night. I had just left my ship behind. I looked up at it. There was a ladder. I could climb it, to the top, and jump off.
I could do that. I could see myself doing it.
In my seabag I had everything, all my gear, everything from this life of the sea.
And up there, I could just dive off.
Because she left me.
Because I did not have her anymore. I yearned for her, I needed her. I loved her. So. So much.
I hated the ship.
I hated this "job."
I was empty inside.
That water tower.
I looked at it.
But, then, there was laughter coming from the USO.
A comic was there.
He told this joke about how he was in an elevator - the only two story place in the area - everyone laughed because it was true, this area was "flat" - hardly any buildings were two storys. I wonder what his name was. I figured. Eh, I'll listen to him, then - then I'll just go home.
Home, near her, but so far away, because I knew I'd never see her again in person. Somehow, I just knew.
Years latter, I think of her still.
And that water tower.
