A part of me shut down that morning and never turned back on. The world became a place I didn’t want to be and the water became a place I didn’t want to leave, because that was our place. 

It is our place.

“Salt water burns, but it’s good for you,” you used to tell me, and it quickly became my cure for everything. 

So I let the ocean heal me and convince myself that you’re there watching me from the shore, making sure I always come back home. But you’re not there, you never are anymore. And in those moments going home feels harder than letting myself float. Letting myself drift. Letting myself drown. 

Every year I remember you less and miss you more. When you died everyone told me time heals all wounds, but all time does is steal my memories and leave blurry mysteries behind. All time does is leave me wanting more days with you.  

I return to the ocean when I remember you the least and miss you the most, and leave my clothes beside the rock where I know you’ll keep a close eye on them, and enter the ocean’s silky embrace. I bathe in salt, in tears from the sky. 

The moonrise came late today, allowing the sun to shine for minutes longer than the day before. Warming air is often accompanied by extended evening light. The horizon remained pink and orange as if waiting for the moon to take her spot in the sky, and once the crescent started rising, the sun took its light and left a pale dusk behind. 

I watched as the sky deepened to an inky black. I observed as the earth got quiet. And I felt it happening again. 

I looked up at the stars because they’re always gazing, and tonight I spoke to the moon because she’s always listening. 

“Do you ever get lonely?” I asked. “The people you watch over are always sleeping.”

“The creatives don’t sleep. I watch art be made. I follow the stories people don’t show during the day. The versions of themselves they present to the sun are who they wish to be. The version I see is who they know they are.”

I took in what the moon said and let it swirl around in my head. I thought about all the things that keep me up at night. So I opened my notebook and started to write. 

“Listen to your insomnia.”