Do I use it all and let myself fade? I have had but one skin of water with me since my ship went down. A chance discovery bobbing upon the waves as fortunate as me finding a place in this boat. I believe the oars went down with the ship, and I have nothing to raise a mast or sail. The soggy, salt filled bread I had has been eaten, and the fish are frustratingly out of reach, but I do have this bit of water, rationed these last few days.
My thirst does nothing but grow as I lay here on this battered wooden boat, rocked so gently back and forth by the sea. The sea whose motion never ends and spreads in each direction further than my eyes can see. All that is greater is that which I spy when I turn my gaze to the heavens. Tired of scouring the waters for a sign of birds, ships or land, it is all that there is which is left to see.
And high above I see another blue. Of whom is reflecting whom I do not know, for all there is in day is that blue, interrupted by the wisp of a cloud or the golden orb which stands high to grant me light and deplete my water further. The nights give respite to the heat, but a chill takes hold and keeps itself within the confines of my boat. It chills the splashes of water which keep my company inside my craft. Those small pools too kept from their home by what for them must go on forever, as this boat spreads from horizon to horizon here.
Strange to think that stuck here in this middle of a vast watery expanse, it would be water itself which would keep me company and know of the separation from its own kind which I feel riding upon these waves. My food is long gone, as I fear are my chances of surviving. Perhaps I should take what remains and celebrate with my last fresh water. A drink, a toast to the sea which will be my tomb.