your heart and the sea

xiv. on my youth

i am ten years old,
playing in shallow water,
shrieking like a seagull
as the waves roll in
and running towards you,
you, who will always wait for me
with open arms.

although the water is shallow
the tide is still strong
and it catches me off guard,
knocking me off my feet.
i go under,
the salt stinging my eyes and
pouring into my nostrils.
i struggle to find my footing, and
just as i finally break for air,
another wave rolls in.
it steals the breath from my lungs,
makes me dizzy, scared. i think
that i am drowning,
that i am going to die.
and then another rolls in,
and another,
and another.
i don't have enough time to recover;
the water pulls me to its depths,
away from you.

when i finally come to shore
you are gone.
my eyes are too bleary
from salt, sand, and blood
to see much of anything
except a wide expanse of crowded beach.
i will find you again later,
i tell myself,
not understanding
(for i am too young)
that you are gone,
wholly and completely.

night falls.
one by one, the people disappear,
until i am the only one left at the water's edge.
it is blue, illuminated by the moon.
you will come back for me,
i tell myself.
you could not have—would not have—
left me here by myself.
but day breaks,
and the water turns morning-pink as it mourns the night,
and i sit in the sand dunes,
watching as people fill the beach,
all these empty people with empty promises,
who say they are with me, always,
but will disappear just as the day slips into night.
i run amongst them and try to pretend
like i am not here alone.

i am grown now, older now,
but i am still too young to understand why
this pain is never-ending, why it rushes over me
like the waves, sending me to its freezing depths,
knocking me back off my feet just as i begin to find my footing.
i am still too young to understand why
night will always fall, and why
these people will always leave me.
i am still too young to understand why
you left me, and why i was left
completely alone at the water's edge.

i have grown, but i am not old.
only when i have grown enough to know
that i must leave the beach if i am ever
going to find happiness
will my wounds,
scraped open by sand, flushed with saltwater,
ever truly heal.
i must leave the beach, now, right now,
this idyllic fantasy, this nostalgic memory,
sweeter than it ever really used to be,
never tainted with sickness,
blackened with death.
i must leave it all behind, i must let go,
or i will never fully understand why
this pain is never-ending, and why
night always falls, and why
people always leave me, and why
you left me, and why
i am so goddamn alone.

i am very young and i do not
know that much about the world,
but i do know this:
things always look like
they're going to get better.
they never really do.
and i do know that
i am going to drown beneath these waves
if i let them, if i stay here.
but this beach is all i've ever known,
and i do not know how to leave it,
or where else i could possibly go.