The Last Year in Letters of Renaissance

Should anything ever happen, tragedy beyond all of my control, I’ve told myself this last year that I would abandon what I am doing and do all I can to put myself out at sea. For whatever reason, for any purpose.
Like the unparalleled height of the mountains that I craved when my last love unexpectedly broke it off with me. I needed to gather a few belongings and push my body beyond its means. I needed for reasons I cannot explain to see a long way, I feel the only thing that would heal me in the future would be months upon the gaping vastness of the open oceans. The surface in all directions that stretches, seemingly, entirely, endless, calls me to it.
It is hard to hold so few so close without being torn apart and to hunt for the perfection that will heal. What is the meaning behind my healing? How do the jagged rocks of the mountains and the softness and salt of the ocean pull at my hands and feet?
My hands and feet in their basins.