I open my eyes while sitting here, on the dock,
Legs dangling over the edge, the sun shining in my eyes.
It creeps above the misty horizon, reassuring me with its presence,
It is always there, every morning, cyclic, neverending, forever.
I smile and wonder at the word, 'forever'
My eyes have been closed for too long now.
Closed because they cannot see the future.
Or don't want to acknowledge what may become of us. 
In the end, what are we? Who are we?
The notebook I hold is empty,
Yet the heart shaped pen is ready to scribble away.
Ready to take down all the postives and negatives
That I hold dear to me, in my heart, and in my head.
I start to write words, but they are the wrong ones,
So different to those that I know I should write.
Yet my feelings are telling me a different story.
A tale of futuristic woe. A tale of - 
The tide laps at the bottom of the dock. Another relentless force.
Crashing and clawing and eating away at the edge of time, just like us
Nature will not endure it, nature will not endure us either.

I finally write three words that make sense to me,
But I know not of whether they are true anymore.
Deep down, in my heart, I want them to be. But are they?
I take a very deep breath and let out an everlasting sigh.
A coldness spreads from my lips and settles in the air in front of me.
Adding to the seemless pit of mist that already exists
Between me and the horizon. The sun, burns it away so quickly.
I turn the page and write the negatives. I stop. 
Fifty seconds is all it took to write so many words.
I hate myself as I read them back. 
Most of the page is about me, some about you.
At least I have been honest and true. The problem is us.
We have grown too powerful, too insular,
Too selfish for our own good, and yes, too bloody minded to care.
I want to care, I really do, but I'm tired.
I feel tired of everything, of doing, of thinking, of life!
I don't know if, at this moment, I even like myself anymore.
Even now there is a twist to this sad tale as the tide recedes,
Showing me that all that is left is residue. Muddy residue.
Is that what love is? Muddy residue mixed with bitter tears?

I look back on the first page to those three words.
I smile. You have to smile when you read them, 
Because, at the end of the day, they are so true.
I start writing some more good words, and more seem to follow.
There has been too much 'I' and not enough 'You.'
Yet, those first three words that I wrote are soon followed by a letter.
And a capital 'X' at that. No, not crossing them out. Re-affirming them.
Those first three words are what keeps us going, seemingly.
They are what makes us brush life under the carpet,
Makes us endure the wrongs and cherish the rights,
Makes us care, about us - maybe, about you, no.
I want to cry out and do something worthwhile, something positive,
I want to take all of us and shake them so hard they feel what's wrong,
Yet I sit on the edge of a dock waiting for us to come to our senses. 
And those first three simple words are - 'I Love You.'
Is that all it takes to change a mind - three words and ten minutes of sunrise.
Yet, at the end of the day, when Nature reclaims all that she has lost
And brings us to our knees, like so many species before us,
I sincerely hope that the last human will turn to you and say - 
I Love You.