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Little one, it's your first time at sea on a vessel more sturdy than the family's old row-boat. In your excitement, you lean on me. You wrap your arms around me and peer into the limitless blue depths beneath us, and in awe you decide this is where you want to spend your life.
Watching your life drift away, you lean on me. You're still so small, and in your fear the world seems so large. Frightened, you cling to me and cry; that's all you can do, and all I can do is be there for you.
You come back to me when you can, and we look at the sea together. You used to love it, didn't you? Even now, you can't help but feel peaceful when you see the sparkles dancing on its restless surface. You lean on me, wistfully hoping to see that ocean from a different view some day.
Finally, your breath comes easier. Relieved, you lean on me and bask in the warm light of the sun that shines down upon us. Things are really looking up, aren't they, little one?
You lean upon me again many times from then. Sometimes in anticipation of where we're off to, sometimes in grinning exhaustion. Sometimes you're accompanied by a friend you can smile about life with, and even if he seems grumpy, the comfortable slant of his eyes and shoulders, the way he leans, shows he is happy as well.
A time or two, I catch you at it. You lean against me as he leans over you, but usually you have the presence of mind to remove yourself from sight before removing clothing. Other times you don't feel the need to be so secretive, and that's fine. He leans on you, you lean on him, the both of you lean on me and we watch the sunset together, or the stars or, on occasion, something as thrilling as a display of fireworks exploding in the sky. Those are the best days.
But inevitably, you come to me on bad days too. The rare days when you feel sick, I am there for you. When the news of your family comes, you lean heavily upon me and drop your tears into the ocean. When times are rough and screamed secrets get out much farther than you'd have liked, I don't mind that you grasp me angrily. If I can persuade you in this short moment of heartache not to throw yourself at the raging waters, that is enough.
Together, we see much of the world, you and I. You've grown as we've traveled; you've lived and learned and loved and gotten so much stronger. But you'll always be a little one, on the face of this grand world. And when you lean on me, as I hope you always will, there's still the spark of a child, a memory in your hands of the first time you held me close and gazed wondrously upon the ocean's beauty. No matter how old you get, how many scars line your fragile skin, how many wars come and go, I'll always be here for you, and I hope you always feel a sense of peace when you lean on me.