The kind that comes from doing all the things you know must be done and none of the things you want to do.
So my mind escapes.
It drifts to the sea.
To the sound of waves folding themselves onto the shore, again and again, as though the ocean is breathing.
And suddenly, I am sitting on the sand.
Not the grown-up version of me.
The little girl.
The one who mixed sand and water into imaginary food, imaginary cake,
imaginary dinners served to imaginary guests.
The one who played house with her friends, copying her parents without even realizing it, rehearsing adulthood long before she understood it.
I think about how children do that.
How they watch.
How they imitate.
How they become.
And for a moment, I miss her.
I miss how easy it was to be present.
I miss how easy it was to play.
Back at the beach, I am still trying to keep the sand out of my shoes.
Still trying to keep my dress clean.
Still trying to control everything.
And then I wonder
What would happen if I stopped?
What would it feel like to take my shoes off, dig my hands into the sand, let it cling to my skin, and simply not care?
What would it feel like to stand in the water long enough for the cold to stop feeling cold?
Because isn’t that how it always works?
Like swimming.
The first step is unbearable.
Then your body adjusts.
Then suddenly you’re moving, floating, laughing, wondering why you were afraid in the first place.
Maybe at sunrise.
Or sunset.
I’ll go.
Not the version of me that rushes.
Not the version of me that plans.
Just me.
A blanket.
A journal.
A coffee.
A swimsuit I bought but never truly used.
I’ll sit close enough to hear the waves and far enough away to keep my notebook dry.
I’ll walk into the water.
Maybe only ankle-deep.
Maybe a little further.
Maybe I’ll be brave.
Maybe I’ll chicken out completely.
Either way, I’ll stay.
I’ll open my journal and let my memories arrive.
Because my mind remembers everything.
The first hellos.
The podiums.
The conversations that changed something.
The colours.
The outfits.
The tiny details nobody else noticed.
The moments everyone else forgot.
I carry them all.
And maybe that morning, or that evening, I’ll let them come.
The ones that make me laugh.
The ones that make me cry.
The ones that still feel unfinished.
And perhaps somewhere between the sunrise and the sea,
between the sand and the journal,
between who I was and who I am becoming,
I will finally experience the beach.
Not visit it.
Not photograph it.
Not pass through it.
Experience it.
And maybe,
that is how the story ends.
Or perhaps,
how it begins.
With Love,
Ayo
⸻
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You write beautifully.
ReplyDeleteThank you 😊
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