this one came in off your currents.
where should it drift?
once you do, it isn't yours. there's no way back to it.
the water didn't take it. it's still here.
it's out in the world now.
the water is moving.
nothing has washed up.
the tide keeps its own hours. come back when you forget to.
it went back out with the water.
words you're drawn toward
currents pull, they don't sort. things from elsewhere still arrive.
words you'd rather the tide never bring
these hold. nothing carrying them will reach you.
remembering
only these two dials are kept, and only here. nothing anyone writes is saved to a device — not yours, not theirs.
later, an emailed link will carry them to another browser. it will be the only reason to ever sign in, and it will stay optional.