A part of his heart would always belong to the seas. The wild curls of the waves called his name, whispering Sinbad as they crashed against the yellow sands of Baghdad. Strong southern winds whipped at his black hair connecting him with the elements. The clouds parted with the southern wind, creating a huge canopy above his head where stars could break through. He lifted his head and stared up at the expansive sky, the deep moonlight blues and dark black against the twinkling stars.

From the time of his father's death, the waters welcomed Sinbad to come sail upon them. Wherever he sailed, the Adriatic to the Caspian, it felt like his true home. Out there, amongst the whitecaps and mists that covered the deep, he could experience both excitement and fear. The excitement of finding a new adventure every day and a fear that made adrenaline course through his soul and wake it from the slumber of monotonous life in the city.

Seven voyages brought many dangers into his life; Islands that moved of their own accord, cannibals that entombed foreigners alive, overprotective roc beasts that would kill for their young and bird-humans who sailed up to heaven but belonged to hell. Strange enough, these dangers did nothing to persuade him to stay on land, where most people belonged. In him, these dangers were savored and held sacred. They gave him life; they gave him stories to tell.

Before his seventh voyage, Sinbad could find no good reason to stay on land, no good reason why he should stand in the way of adventure. Then a woman entered his life, a beautiful woman with hair of ebony and skin of silk. For the first twenty-five years of her life, Kalila lived on the distant shore of the sinful bird-humans as the daughter of the chief merchant. She begged him to leave, to sell all his possessions and take her to a land away from all that reminded her of her deceased father.

He complied with her wishes because Sinbad thought he was in love. At her warm touch, he began forgetting his true passion and where his heart truly belonged.

The sea was his mistress and a jealous one at that.

The city choked him now, pollution and people strangling his hopes and dreams. He was sure it was the sea's doing, placing thoughts in his head as he slept beside Kalila, making him wish for something more than her bosom and warmly cooked meals. Stuck between his two loves, with no where to run, Sinbad felt himself start to deaden at the edges. If he wasn't careful, that dead feeling would reach his core.

Kalila used to join him at the shore, hoping to share his view of the world with him. There were things she would never understand though, the sea and his love for it was one of them. "What are you looking for, Sinbad?"

He never knew how to answer her; they spoke different languages.

"Is there something I could do for you?" She thought of his silence as a withdrawal from her, turning his doubts into faults of her own. He could not honestly tell her that she was wrong. "Perhaps some wifely duty that I have not yet fulfilled?"

Not knowing what to say to that, Sinbad would wrap an arm around her tiny, fragile shoulders and lead the both of them away from the sea. She was little, a sheep lost in the world, needing constant tending. There was few things Kalila was not a natural at. She was a good wife but she was not the sea.

"You were down there again today." Her voice tightened at those words when he came home late one night. The other husbands did not leave their wives alone at night, to be abandoned to the whims of thieves and beggar who traveled within the city walls. Disgraced in the marketplace by the other women, all of whom told her to keep a tighter leash on him, Kalila was at a loss. "What is it about those waters? What do they have that I can not provide for you?"

Adventure. Fortune. Company.

Sinbad was silent, feeling as trapped as any animal he ever killed in the wilderness. A bear trap was wrapped around his ankle, cutting off all circulation and digging its teeth into his soul. Nevertheless, he could not stop himself from telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. "I love you, Kalila."

"More than the sea?"

No answer.

"You must choose. I do not wish to play second-string to anyone or anything."

In that moment, everything grew clear. Ignoring the call of the wild would not stop its ceaseless plea. No matter how many times he thought he was convinced that this was the life he wanted to lead, more tension and distance grew between him and Kalila by the day.

With only the clothes on his back, Sinbad turned and ran towards the only thing that had ever made him feel alive. He did not even stop to tell his wife that he was sorry, that he could not love her, that she was a good woman and he hoped for the best in her life. If he looked at her now, he may never find the courage to follow his own path.

Sinbad ran through the cobbled city streets, passing neighbors who whispered things about his uncouth manners. Let them think he was rude, what did these simple peasant folk matter, he was meant for greater things. Reaching the shore of Baghdad, Sinbad chucked off his shoes and rubbed his feet into the gritty sands. Not until Sinbad dived into the waters, letting himself sink into the deep and resurface, covered with the liquid of his one true love did he stop running.

He didn't have to run anymore; he was home.

He floated on his back, the salt water holding him up effortlessly and planned for the next voyage. He would get a ship, a good one that he could handle in the worst of weather and keep sailing. One last thought was sparred for Kalila, the woman who occupied only a moment of time and a space in the past. "Forgive me, Allah. I had to break her heart. I am in love with another."

-The End-