You and me, let's go out going all the way

You don't know what you've got till it's gone. Nothing has felt more sobering this summer than that. My stepmom recently said to me that the past nine years have gone by too fast. And that hit me like a freight train - what's truly terrifying is that, if a chunk of time as long as nine whole years could feel too short, then this summer is a mere blink of the eye. It's the time it takes for a text to send. It's the time it takes for all the lights in the city to go out at once.

It's such a simple thing to realize that you're surprised when you realize it because you thought it had been there, in your brain, all along but it's really something you need to feel before you know it. Matter over mind. I told myself over and over that I know what I have, that I'm having it right now, and eating it too. Like someone smiling into a mirror after brushing their teeth, not an emotion, just checking. Just a reminder. All 32 bits of bone still in place, like they have been since the age of ten. 

I'm happy. I'm used to the alternative, which isn't necessarily unhappiness, but it's not happiness either. It was something in between, waiting for something inside to snap and pretending I never knew it was there, and then once the ties broke I would continue, undone, but not unhappy. I think part of it comes from accepting the fragility that comes with intense emotions, and diving in anyway. I've found myself in the deep end and I think it's best that I stay there, at least until the water starts to reach my neck. 

Maybe that's all that matters.We can cry and scream and claw at the fabric until the seams start to give, or at least feel like they're starting to give, but time keeps going.  And it'll go all the way, long past your existence, or mine, or anyone else's. Whether you matter or you don't, whether you're leaving or staying, time moves. It feels like it's moving me. 

I've never been to the east coast, and in 30 days I'll be living there for eight months. I have a hoodie from PEI with "Cavendish" stitched to the front and it's my favourite hoodie, not because I've been there but because my stepmom gave it to me. While I was in Greece my mom bought me a necklace with a tiny delicate anchor on it, not because I've been to the maritime provinces but because I figure I may as well pretend. If you need to know anything about me, it's that I thrive on familiarity. Home is a place and it's in Southeastern Ontario. So to say the least, I'm terrified. 

But when I'm anywhere that's not home, I swim in the ocean and I gaze at the stark blue line that is the horizon, the saltwater keeping me just a little bit more afloat than lakewater would, and I watch the sun set in such a way that it only can on the coast. I feel then that an hour or a day could pass and it wouldn't matter, because everything is inevitable and imminent and all I need to do is keep my head above the water. And just like learning how to float for the first time, it's easier to relax, to stop fighting, to trust yourself. Then I'll know what I've got. Then I'll realize that it's never been gone. 

But don't it always seem to go?