stockholm syndrome

To England My Dear,

You grey, drizzly, cold son of a bitch. My ship accidentally crashed upon your pebble ridden shores and now my mind is clouded, bewildered. Hypnotized by your beautiful sirens and their enchanting song. I've tried to break free, to escape only to be lost at sea. I spent two years in the devastatingly bitter storms of the Atlantic Ocean. Lost, confused and... frightened. Only to wake finding myself lay choking upon your salty beach. I have realised you wont let me go and some how I am happy to stay. I have built myself a small cottage over looking the sea so I may dream of a different life. Warmer perhaps... dry, sunny and joyful.

But now it is many years on and that life feels so far away, distant, as if it were never meant to be. I have grown to love your stony shore, the icy chill of the summer winds and the entrancing hymn of your lady sirens. No, I will not plan to escape again as I know I will but find myself waking upon the bosom of the beast once more. Insanity is said to be doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, I have never fancied myself insane... and an asylum would be far more difficult to build than a cottage.