The languid roll of the boat signaled loneliness — silently but steadily.

Was it the inseparable connection of wave and hull — each feeling that, despite the lack of distance between them, they would remain distinct?

Was it that there wasn’t another mast for miles, at least the twelve miles out to the horizon?

Was it the motion, purposeless and uniform, a lethargic fidget that signaled anxiousness without anticipation.