I have weathered many turns, my love, and I have darkened many days.
I have splintered many masts, my love, and wasted shots, and torn my name
like ink-soaked paper in my hands.
Through all of this I held fast to you, whatever is left. Kept it hidden in my pocket, behind a mirror, carried it like a seashell
in the palm of my hand – but do not think I would let the sea touch you, darling, I would not dare.
The roar was only my own blood, calling your name in my ear.
— Ten Years Drowned, Blue.