PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I feel like my father's memory, my love for him, the love he gave me, are like an indentation you make with your foot when you step from the beach into the ocean. The water rushes around, you feel specific grains of sand slide away, you sink a little deeper, and yet, when you lift your foot, what once was a hole becomes filled with fresh water, new sand, broken shells. It becomes easy to believe this, to become paralyzed, because to move is to chance forgetting, to blur and obfuscate the past, the things you treasure. But the more you stand immobilized, the less you are living your own life.

Back and forth, back and forth. Waves visit the shore and leave, and these similar push/pull feelings wash back and forth within me. I am so weary of crying, yet the tears still come. I am still searching for patterns in the tides. I know one truth: I will not drown, even if sometimes it feels like it could happen.