Becoming a Sea

I exist as an interminable wave of everything and everyone I’ve ever known.

I ebb and flow through the motions of life;

Of loving,

Of losing,

Of acceptance.

Even through such limberness,

I cling to things I know will change.

I cling to everything I shouldn’t:

People,

Places,

Smells,

Feelings.

Creaks in the floorboards

And cracks in the walls,

I lap relentlessly at the shores of things I will inevitably slip away from.

I fill spaces between grains of salt and sand with the hope that everything will remain as it always has.

Rather than relying on change, I rely on the presence of those who cross the stage in 17 days.

I rely on the presence of those whom I have one final summer with.

The presence of those who, come August, will not exist in the places they have for so long. Places in which I will continue to exist, without them.

I rely on the presence of a family we created for ourselves.

A family that fills the spaces between grains of sand and salt.

A family that allows any worries of change to lie dormant.

A family I feel I should be following, but I am not.

Because at 15, 16, 17, 18, we became a sea of reliability.

We became a monotonous current of predictable patterns.

At 17, I am no longer a child, but I am not yet grown.

At 17, I feel orphaned without my sea of family.

At 17, I feel misplaced amidst blood I never came to comfortably rely on. 

At 17, I feel I should not reside here anymore, but I do.

At 17, I continue to rely on the creaks in the floorboards and the cracks in the walls.

I rely on my presence among these 

People,

These places,

These familiar smells,

And consistent feelings.

All of which I, too, will soon cease to exist amidst.

Yet I continue to lap at the shores of those who erode beneath my feet,

and all I can do is watch with pride.