after the ocean gave me back
I packed a suitcase
for seven days
stepped onto a ship
and let the ocean air
loosen the names
I had been carrying.
my grief.
my reputation.
my old stories.
I became a girl
who watched midnights
turn into mornings.
a girl who let a boy
look at her
like he had discovered
something rare.
a girl who loved
when the wind mussed her hair
and stole her words.
a girl who walked around
not knowing what tomorrow held
and somehow
loving that.
the thrill of the unknown.
the freedom
of not having to be
the girl carrying
every goodbye
every almost
every version of herself
she had outgrown
but never learned
how to put down.
and then
the ocean gave me back
to a life I almost forgot.
schedules.
responsibilities.
white walls.
questions that waited
exactly where I left them.
a room that still held
the weight I had carried
before I left.
I wasn’t prepared
for how strange it would feel
to mourn a life
that only existed in fragments.
a few sunsets.
a few songs.
a few nights that felt endless
because I knew they weren’t.
but I don’t think
coming home hurts
because the fantasy disappeared.
I think the pain
comes from the evidence.
evidence
that I can spend my whole life
trying to become someone new
and instead
find the girl
I thought I lost
under open skies
among strangers
in a week
far away from home.
that I can still be her
when the world stops telling me
who I am.
the ship
never created me.
it returned me
to myself.
showed me
why I still treasure
the things I cannot keep.
because a sunset
would not hold
such beautiful colors
if it never had to leave
and a moment
would not feel like magic
if I could keep it
forever.
maybe the girl I miss
was never left behind.
maybe
she came home with me.
maybe
she is still here
waiting for me
to stop searching for her
somewhere else.
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