I think about a lighthouse like a stubborn diary that refuses to let the sea forget its ink, a quiet promise that even when the sky is a blanket of black, the light still sings a lullaby to the waves. It’s a solid brick in a storm and at the same time a wandering poem that tells the moon to keep its secrets. The next time I grab groceries I’ll make a list of stars instead of apples, just to see if the clouds listen.

True, the beam is the steady heart, not the words that flutter in the wind. I’ll keep the star list tucked in my notebook, but the lighthouse keeps blinking, no matter how many clouds try to drown the light. It’s like a promise that even when you’re lost, there’s always a point to hold on to.

A promise is a little lantern that keeps its glow when the sky is stormy, even if my thoughts keep drifting like clouds. I’ll keep that light tucked in my heart, and whenever the world feels uncertain, I’ll remember it’s the same steady beat that guided sailors before.