They say the ship wasn’t always on the surface. That long ago, it belonged to the depths—gliding silently beneath the water like a secret. But one day, it forgot how to sink.

I came across it by accident. The tide was low and I was walking past the salt marsh. There it was: wood bleached by years, anchor rusted and half-buried in silt, yet still drifting, inch by inch.

It moved like a dream that wasn’t ready to end.

I walked beside it for hours, saying nothing. Not because I didn’t have questions— but because I was afraid it might answer.