the only thing that lasts.


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A beautiful soul that had been an unexpected encouragement to me for the past couple years passed away close to a week ago. Despite the enormous and exhausting fight she was putting up against cancer, she would send me encouraging notes and messages. She would pray for me and talk to me when all I wanted to do was isolate myself.

She reminded the empty shell of a man that I was that I was loved. And I felt it. And believed it. Beth was truly someone that I will never forget, and will continually aspire to grow into the level of compassion that she exuded on a minute-to-minute basis.

When I heard the news of her passing I cried quietly and thought about all of the people I love. I thought about how, for the past two years, I’ve been focused solely on this internal mental battle to keep the will to live that I let friendships come close to destruction; I became a distant brother, a distant son, and an apathetic friend.

This week I’ve been reflecting a lot about her life. That in light of all she was going through, she chose every single time to reach out to others in love.

The night after she passed was a pretty intense one for me. I woke up in the middle of the night shaking from a very, very, vivid dream that my dad had passed away (Sorry if you’re reading this, pops. I hope it’s not too weird for you). My dad has been battling really severe and difficult health problems for the last ten years, and when I woke up from the dream I was convinced that he had passed away; that the conversation I had with him in the dream was the last conversation I would have with him.

After I calmed down a little bit, the thing on my mind that really upset me is that I remembered, in that moment, that I had forgotten to reply to one of the messages he had recently sent me. I immediately replied to the message, and also sent out random messages to my mom and my sister.

Over the next few days, I took walks around the complex I’m living in to process the week’s events. I would walk and think, and then sit down to read a book called “The Girl With Seven Names” written by a North Korean refugee talking about her often tragic and extremely difficult life. Her life story is permeated with regret in some decisions she made in regards to the relationships to those closest to her — I wept at one point in the book where she was so overcome at the grief of not being able to communicate with anybody that she loved.

While it was an extremely heavy week, I walked out of it with a lot of resolve.

I lost sight of the most important thing in life, the only thing that lasts. I lost sight of what it meant to love. I had become complacent, self-centered, ungrateful and genuinely lazy. I had been using the hurt and confusion I was feeling in my own head and heart to justify not spending my “precious little energy” on others, even those I loved most.

What a bleak way to live.

But I just can’t be that person anymore. The thought that I’ve been complacent as a son, as a brother, as friend, breaks my heart. It really does. I’ve been masquerading as this jaded-yet-compassionate pseudo-intellectual who has something to prove, but in reality I’ve just been immensely self-centered.

That’s not who I am, and I have no intention on letting that be who I am any more.

The “me” that I know I can give the world is what I’m striving for now. It’s the me that Beth believed in. I want to reclaim the parts of me that used to tell people unashamedly how much I loved them, almost on an hour-to-hour basis. I’d rather over-communicate love than withhold it.

I don’t want to miss one opportunity to let my loved ones know how truly loved by me they are. The thankfulness I have for the people that have stuck with me, especially over the last couple years, is something I can’t ever articulate.

I feel weird writing this, to be honest. I don’t want it to sound like I’m trying to draw “inspiration” from something so tragic and so heartbreaking as the reality of losing loved ones, but in the pursuit of honesty and the sickeningly cliched word “transparency,” I just want to try to put words to what I have been feeling and thinking this week.

You see, careers change. The economy, physical locations, passions and interests all change. We will walk through immense challenges, and we will feel like we don’t have energy to deal with the problems between us and the people we care about; we will be afraid to step out and make ourselves vulnerable to each other.

But in a world filled with so many things frantically screaming at us to get our attention; with all of the anxiety and sorrow and tragedy, I believe it is more important than ever to communicate our love for one another.

Because that love between us all is the only thing that lasts.



Thank you Beth, for everything. You are truly missed.

No Country





In my first post this year from China, I wanted to update anybody that cares to follow this journey on the first couple weeks of my time during this life transition. Me changing everything about the physical surroundings in my life does nothing to the overall posture I am trying to hold myself to in being truly transparent, and that certainly won’t stop here.

It’s been a weird week and a half-ish.

As most of you that know me well or have the misfortune of following my life on social media knows, it’s been a really hard year and a half for me. My struggle with severe depression alongside the deconstruction and subsequent attempted reconstruction of my spirituality left me pretty beaten down by this point of my life’s journey. While I definitely consider myself being on the upswing, my internal life is still suffering from those wounds and those growing pains. Despite this state of being, and the fact that I would be uprooting myself from the few people that anchored me during the darkest part of my life, I was/am truly excited for this next chapter of my life.

I was/am excited to escape my growing disillusionment and, at the risk of sounding over-dramatic and pseudo-philosophical, my genuine existential despair. But the thing is, you really don’t escape that. You can’t outrun it. Borders mean nothing to that sort of thought — it’s takes an internal battle waged daily. It’s extremely hard and taxing work, and it leaves you vulnerable to the little struggles of the day. And those struggles made themselves apparent from day one.

As I was making my rounds of “goodbye for now,” a lot of people said something to me along the sentimental lines of “I am so happy that you are living out your biggest dream.” Although I definitely understand the place of love and joy those words were coming from, I couldn’t help but being set on edge by them. For me, this next chapter isn’t the culmination of some dewey-eyed dream I’ve had since childhood — it’s a genuine battle for my identity and my sanity. It’s a fire I’m willingly stepping into because I feel I don’t have anywhere else to walk.

It really isn’t easy for me.

To be honest, I feel really unprepared and unqualified for this season. I am already extremely busy and have a lot of real responsibility on my shoulders — the type of responsibility that affects others in a very real way. I’m still battling so much of my own darkness, and sometimes just putting on the appearance of strength in the hopes that strength actually shows itself can leave you so much more exhausted and less able to truly be strong.

That being said, something is different this time around. I have better tools. Tools in the form of memories, both good and bad, and tools in the form of practice. The weight of what I’m feeling right now would have probably killed me a year or so ago, but right now, I have a firm resolve (albeit a tiny one) to dig my heels in and fight whatever this is head on. I truly feel loved by the only people I need to feel loved from, and I’m learning to de-escalate feelings and tensions in my mind.

To be honest, I’m in tears writing this. I’m listening to John Mark McMillan’s brand new record Mercury & Lightning, and in the song “No Country” John croons out the line:

I never saw it coming, never thought I’d wake up
With no place to call my country
I got no place to call my country
No place to call my home

I feel those words. I feel it hard.

Now, to end this post with hope.

I felt those words hard today, yes, but I also felt resolve today. I felt resolve that I will not fall the same way I did last time. I truly believe there are great things that lie ahead this year; that, while, I don’t know where to call home, whether physically or deep within my soul, I can say to myself that I am here right now. 

I may have no country, but I do have some hope.

why is everything so heavy?

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It has taken me a couple days to really be able to take a deep breath and find any sense of balance since Chester Bennington took his own life because I really do understand the headspace that he had been vocalizing in his lyrics leading up to his tragic end.

I don’t like my mind right now…
… I can’t escape the gravity
I’m holding on, why is everything so heavy?

I find myself thinking and feeling the same things very, very, often. And before anybody reading this feels like this is a red flag, I promise you it isn’t. It’s just that I really do understand the day-to-day battle of fighting of extreme depression. Most of the time, I succumb to it and the subsequent feelings of isolation and hopelessness that it brings. The scary part is that I don’t know what would have happened to me had not a few people over the past few years entered my life and helped me find a reason (and a sincerely passionate reason, at that) to continue to live and to try and thrive.

Because even with those experiences with the people that I am endlessly thankful for, who continue to bring hope and light into my life, I find myself in the same headspace that Chester was singing about on “Heavy.” My thoughts really are heavy, and not just in a metaphorical sense. Anybody with depression could tell you that sensation of your thoughts physically weighing down on you. Your mind can’t process anything except for hurt or the pain that you are feeling in the moment. It pushes down on your mind until it squeezes out any rationality or hope trying to carry the weight of the mass of depression on it’s shoulders.

It’s unbearable at times.

I understand, despite whether one believes suicide is “selfish” or not (please never tell people grieving that sentiment), why somebody like Chester could succumb to that feeling, and it’s because I know how easy it is to let go of hope in those moments. To really and truly believe that things won’t get better, no matter what people tell you will happen.

A part of the reason Chester’s death impacted me so greatly is because I saw myself clearly in Chester’s pain. You see, I have hope that there are things ahead in my life worth sticking around for. I have people in my life that make me laugh, that make me so thankful for the life that I have. I even have confidence in myself to the point that I know I can make a positive impact in this world somehow.

But none of that helps when the darkness comes at you hard. 

When the storm comes, I have to buckle down and weather it as best I can, but I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH ON MY OWN TO WEATHER IT. need the people around me to speak hope and the truth of who I am into these moments. I am not strong enough to fight the darkness on my own. None of us are.

The biggest lie depression tells us is that we are truly alone. But what happens when depression is right? What happens when we are all caught up in our own lives that we refuse to see the lives of those struggling next to us? Do we think we can just get a pass on surface conversation with each other? If a depressed person feels alone, and they are told again and again that they truly are alone by the actions of those around them, then the battle in darkness truly becomes impossible to win.

We need to be there for each other. And if you are a depressed person like myself that is intimate with this nightly battle, and yet somehow you have some reason to hope and keep moving, we NEED you to look out for others. I NEED to look out for others. It’s so easy to feel like a victim when you’re in a cycle of depression, but how beautiful is it that in our sorrow, our hopelessness, our loneliness we can somehow be a source of strength for someone else?

I’m sincerely so sorry I wasn’t in a position to be that someone for Chester, but I know, right now, I’m in a position to be that for someone else.

We can’t always dispel the darkness, but we can sure as hell endure it together. 





The Cello at the Edge of the World




When I look out at a view like this, I must say, it is truly indescribable. The problem with saying something is indescribable, though, is that “indescribable,” is, in-and-of-itself, a description.

So to describe what it looks like at the Edge of the World by saying it is indescribable is frustratingly accurate.

“What do you see?” I ask her.

Instead of answering, she just yawns and nuzzles her head into my arm. Seven years old, always full of wonder, and she’s feeling sleepy at the Edge of the World. I slowly lay down with my back on the grass, bringing her along with me. Her mother would probably laugh right now. I wonder what her laughter would sound like here of all places.

I drift off thinking about that; I follow her laughter in and out of time as if it somehow held color, held shape, held her form; soon, I’m sitting in a familiar auditorium, watching her colorful, shaped, laughter serenely play the cello. She’s playing brilliantly, as always. The audience is entranced, as always; as am I, one with the audience, one with the music. She plays her final note and there is silence. She’s breathing heavily, but controlled, and then the smile I know so well starts to glide across her face. She makes eye contact with me and giggles. It’s just her and I.

I follow that laughter back to the present, at the Edge of the World. I no longer feel the weight of my daughter on my arm so she must be up. As I open my eyes, I see her walking to the edge of the Edge of the World.

“Did you hear her too?” I ask, noticing the chair and the cello sitting near the edge of the Edge of the World.

Instead of answering, she sits down on the chair, slightly tunes the graceful instrument, and begins to play. The melody was indescribable.

“What would mom’s laughter sound like here?” she says, as she continues to play.

I close my eyes and listen. The sound of the cello and the laughter are one. And here are we, father and daughter, mother and instrument, laughter and song, at the Edge of the World.




the fall of sentiment (one brown man’s pseudo-philosophical musings on life)




While watching a short overview video on the life of Soren Kierkegaard on Youtube, I was struck by this concluding remark from the narrator because of how true it was of my own life — he says:

“Kierkegaard is one of those few philosophers that we can turn to when the world has badly let us down and we are in need of a friend who can fully understand the dark places we are in once the sentimental illusions that normally keep us going fall away.”

When I discovered the writings of Soren Kierkegaard almost exactly one year ago, I was feeling this idea deeply; I was in that dark place in life, seeing those so-called “sentimental illusions” crumble beneath me. It was indeed dark, and was certainly worrisome, but Kierkegaard’s writings gave me hope in the fact that I wasn’t the only person alive to have ever experienced this “angst” (a word Kierkegaard himself coined). In fact, I found out that a whole branch of philosophy addressed this tension, to which Kierkegaard’s ideas were widely credited as a foundation for, called existentialism.

Over a year, I’ve dived into existentialist thought; mostly Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, but also a little bit of Nietzsche (whose name is a serious trigger word for some Christians) and Satre.

I digress, though.

To me, Kierkegaard’s musings point to a fundamental problem in my life that I find myself dwelling on unceasingly, probably almost to the point that Nietzsche himself did before he went mad (that’s a telling sign). It’s this idea of disillusionment. And not in this bullshit hip kind of disillusionment that people make fun of us #millennials for, but that kind of disillusionment in which Kierkegaard wrote of when he said “when I opened by eyes and saw the real world, I laughed, and haven’t stopped laughing since.” I’m glad K could laugh about it, because instead of laughing I have been intensely despairing over this disillusionment.

Now, putting aside my convoluted explanations of some philosophical ideas, here are ways that I’ve experienced seeing through these “sentimental illusions,” mostly in the realm of how I interact with people, and how it continues to affect me. I’m not proud of some of the conclusions I’ve come to or my reaction to those conclusions, but this is an honest look at the last year of my life and what has been going on internally with me. I find it disconcerting and comforting at the same time (oh the wonder of paradox) that there have been tragic thinkers that lived before me that have experienced this, but they have been a guide to me during this time.

Let’s start by talking about relationships. Look, this one is tough. How are we supposed to relate to each other? Well, over the past four or five years, I’ve really learned a lot of great lessons about this. I’ve seen firsthand the beauty and the wonder of friendships that are built on trust, acceptance, and a really joyousness in the others’ presence. I’ve felt comforted in the most emotionally and spiritually difficult times in my life, and I’ve been able to reciprocate that care in a way that continues to humble me to this day.

However, the last year of my life has been an extremely lonely time. Sure, I’ve gone out with friends and have had “fun,” but the majority of my days and nights are spent in isolation (partially of my own choice, partially not), with just my overwhelming thoughts and loneliness to accompany me. The reason I say that this isolation is partially of my own volition is because sometimes I sincerely cannot handle being in relationship with pretty much anyone right now. Being with people makes me feel lonelier than when I’m alone and it has taken me a long time to understand why.

As the great #millennial prophet Lorde sung on her recent record, “They say ‘you’re a little much for me, you’re a liability,’ so they pull back, make other plans, I understand, I’m a liability.” I resonate with what Lorde is talking about. This idea that I’m a liability, I’m a little “too much” to handle, that I have the propensity to be antagonistic to the desires of the people around me. If it’s in the context of church, I’m questioning a lot of the ideas presented. If it’s in my friendships, it’s because I don’t want to party or look at memes all day. If it’s romantically, it’s because I’m way too sentimental or emotionally intense. It’s not that I can help these things, it’s just a bi-product of this disillusionment of the relationships I’m in.

Somehow within my friend groups and the friend groups around me, you are cared about when you are useful or when you look the same as everyone around you. It’s this weird cause-and-effect thing. For instance, in response to everyone around me constantly getting shitfaced or high instead of talking through the things that are happening in their lives, I’ve really lost any and all desire to touch alcohol or weed in my life. It’s not based off of some random holier-than-thou sentiment or moral conviction on drinking or smoking (I have none), but rather a reaction to the things around me that make me feel alone. And because of that, I’m usually not around my friends when they decide that’s how they want to spend their time (which is around 99.8999% of the time) because during those interactions, I feel increasingly isolated and saddened.

Another example of this type of cause-and-effect idea in my relationships come in the way that I connect to people. I’m a very, very, very, very, very emotionally connective person. What I find in almost all of my relationships now is that people have a desire for a shallowness in the relationship as to protect energy levels and as a way to divert any thoughts towards things that are causing anxiety — the problem with that is that I am innately wired to confront those anxieties or problems within my own life and the lives of the people that expect to be in relationship with me. During the week of my birthday last year, as the room was going around with “affirmations” of myself and another person in the group for our birthdays, a roommate of mine said that I was “a black hole of no bullshit,” that people that got near me would be sucked into my no-bullshit zone. While it was a flattering compliment indeed, it revealed to me how people saw me; they saw me as somebody that would go 0-100 real quick. I can see why people avoid depth with me, but nonetheless, the distance I feel people will put between themselves and myself is worth despairing over, mostly because I fundamentally can’t (or have any desire to) change that part of myself.

Spiritually, I feel isolated from the majority of people physically that are around me. Most around me are either going through this “cool” rebellion of a faith they’ve ditched over the past few years because it was hip to do so, or they are holding on to a ridiculously bastardized and Americanized version of a “faith” that is doing a lot of harm to people across all aspects of life. Of course, these are gross oversimplifications, but nonetheless, I find myself in neither camp. Yes, I’ve been disillusioned by a lot of the American church, but my deconstruction (and subsequent reconstruction) of my faith has brought me into a place where I have to move into the realm of podcasts to find a community of people that continue to help me grow spiritually. While this is a blessing in and of itself, it does wear on me that this community is all online and that in my physical space I am still left to myself, listening to these podcasts into the night.

Art is another way I try to make this emotional connection within my relationships, but even on that front I find my interactions to be unbearably shallow. The books I’m reading, the podcasts I’m listening to, the movies and shows I’m watching, all of these conversations last for about five minutes until I can see the person I’m attempting to engage with move on to something else in their mind. On the flipside, those same people will come to me to talk about the art that moves them and I will listen and engage for hours. So then I’m left to my own at night. To read those books and watch those movies by myself, to talk to no one about them, and lament over this dying energy within myself. I’ve had one friend in the past who-knows-how-long that has engaged with me over some art and ideas that have been impacting me, and who could guess that conversation with him was also one of the most inspiring conversations I’ve had in a while.

This society has made me feel so lonely. I’ve made myself feel so lonely. I have friends that I love dearly, that I know love me, that I don’t really connect with anymore. I have people in my life that I thought were going to be great friends that have stopped engaging with me because my life doesn’t look like theirs. I have friends in my life that I believe want to connect with me, but don’t really know how, despite my constant communication that I can’t be surface-y with people I love and that I need people to care enough about me to engage in the things that move me with me, because I will certainly engage with the things my friends love in order to show them that I care.

I guess, despite all of this, I’m grateful that philosophers long dead have been able to be a companion to me, that Lorde is singing about these things, that there are people online that engage in these conversations, and that I have the opportunity to write about all of this.

I’m grateful that in some cosmic and abstract sense, I’m not alone. I just feel like it often.





me in a list. wow, number 15 will blow your mind.

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I started writing this specific post with the goal of commenting on society as a whole, specifically about the way we treat each other, but honestly I got annoyed with my own pretentiousness.

So instead, here’s something even MORE pretentious!!

Below is a ranty list of some of the more pertinent thoughts that have been in my head recently (as in like, the last year), along with observations I’ve had through my intense period of self-reflection over the last year.

Also, if anybody reading wants me to expound upon any of these ideas, let me know. For me right now it is impossible to articulate completely all of these thoughts, because a lot of them I’m still working through myself. I’d be happy to chat more or answer any questions, though.

  1. I would still call myself a Christian, but with a lot of hesitancy on what that word actually means anymore. I recognize the idea that if I had grown up in many other places around the world, I would not be Christian. I theologically am absolutely fascinated by the mysticism of the early Christian-church mothers and fathers. Modern sources, like Richard Rohr and Rob Bell, keep me grounded in a tradition that I continue to be confused by. The Bible, to me, is a rich source of wisdom and an equally rich source of confusion and division (ugh I hate this word, but also “messiness”), and has been probably the least-effective way that I encounter God in my own life.
  2. Institutional Christianity is something I abhor, and I think Jesus would too (I’m looking at you, “American Christianity).
  3. This last year has been ridiculously difficult for me to get through, especially when it comes to my relationships and the way I engage within them.
  4. I preach the importance of friendship but I have no idea what that truly looks like anymore.
  5. Most days I fall on two ends of the spectrum emotionally: I’m either in a pretty depressive and/or nihilistic attitude towards the day, or halfway through the day I’m filled with this amazing sense of optimism and purpose. This tension is maddening, but at least both end of the spectrum happens pretty equally.
  6. I can’t find the words to explain this properly, but I really haven’t felt a sense of “awe” or “wonder” in anything in at least a year. I catch glimpses, but nothing to the level of how it used to be. Yesterday, I actually felt a brief moment of awe, and that was an amazing and hopeful moment for me. Unfortunately for the most part, the “great” times now are usually just “good,” and the “good” times now are kind of just “okay.” This is one of the saddest things to me, and I’m really trying to be mindful enough to let thankfulness do its work to repair this.
  7. I can’t wait to move to China. A tiny part of me is driven by this unhealthy sense of just saying “fuck it” to the life I’ve built here in California because sometimes I feel so alienated in this life, but that honestly is a thought that only comes up every now and then. I’m mostly just super excited to unlock more of my potential and grow more into the man I am desperately desiring to become; someone that can love fully, without reservation, and to be able to be confident in myself to the point that I can be thankful for who I am in my totality. Right now, I’m more of an isolationist with low self-confidence with pessimistic tendencies. I’m sick of living like that, and I think a change in scenery will help me do the very hard work of maturing.
  8. I am moved immensely on some deep level by art and other people’s ideas and thoughts every single day, but the reason it doesn’t give me that “awe” and “wonder” like it used to, is that I experience it completely on my own. Part of my frustrations with everybody (including myself), is that we are all so shallow. Experiencing art together in its varied and nuanced forms is integral to a healthy relationship with me, because it’s simply how I connect to others. So when I have to experience art and ideas completely on my own, I am disconnected on a very deep level to the people around me. This is something that has done a lot of damage to me and to my relationships this past year, and I don’t really know how to fix it. So next time I want to share a song or an idea that a heard with you, it would do a world of good to me if you engaged with it. And vice versa, I want just as bad to be able to engage with the ideas and art that all of my friends and family are being moved by as well.
  9. In reference to number 8, check out Matisyahu’s latest single “Back to the Old.” It has resonated with me SO MUCH over the past two weeks. Particularly, the way Matis’ voice desperately sings out the line “I’ve been blessed but I’ve been tossed around this sea.”
  10. I consume a genuine unhealthy, and I mean actually unhealthy, amount of podcasts. I think it’s because I so desire to be able to connect with ideas, and although I try so hard to do that in person with the people I am in relationship with, those interactions tend to be just too shallow (more so, people are too distracted or actually just don’t care) and so I have to turn to the people having these conversations from afar to have any sort of engagement. This bums me out too, but I don’t know how to fix it.
  11. Twitter > Facebook. Sorry if you don’t see any life updates on FB anymore!
  12. I stress eat, and have put on more weight which contributes more to my lack of a healthy self-image, as well as energy. I also understand that being healthy physically is ridiculously important to being healthy mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I’ve been working on it, but honestly it’s a weird vicious cycle where my own mood/thoughts contribute to me being apathetic or feeling hopeless about this aspect of my life too. I’m close to winning that mental battle though and have already made some life changes to hopefully start making steps towards being way more physically healthy.
  13. Despite the more gloomy and negative aspects of this post, I am doing well enough. I have a LOT of work to do on myself, but I am truly working on those things. It’s really hard, but it has been integral to making me stronger. I’ve been disillusioned by a lot, but my hope has also been renewed in a lot. I know I’m not living life completely alone, but I’d say honestly in a percentage it’s like 80% of my life is lived alone, and not necessarily because I want to.

So here’s to growth. Here’s to the painful work of recognizing our own faults and tendencies, but also recognizing where we want to end up as people. I want to be the best friend I can be to people right now, but I don’t know how to do that anymore in a way that takes care of my self simultaneously. I want to eventually be the best husband and father I can be one day, but right now I am nowhere near the man I need to be in order to realize that dream.

Somedays I suck at this life thing, somedays I don’t.

and that’s an okay place to be in.

The Land that Cuts the Sea.



Photo Jun 15, 9 59 32 PM.jpg“How much longer do you think we have?”

I kept walking, looking down at our feet. As I picked my head up, the last waning minutes of sunlight glowed in front of me.

“I’m not sure — maybe ten minutes.”

We had been walking for hours, hand in hand, out across the ocean on an endless strip of land that cut the blue blanket of water completely in half. I don’t remember how we got “here,” wherever “here” is, and I don’t know what will happen when the sun finally sets, but it certainly doesn’t seem like it will be an entirely comforting event.

But that is for the future, and this, this stroll across the ocean, is for now.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks, even though she already knew.

I mean, I could give her a recipe of things on my mind.
1.) Two heaping cups of confusion
2.) Four tbsps. of melancholy
3.) One-fourth cup of meaninglessness
4.) One whole stick of ‘an-unttainable-desire-to-hold-on-to-this-moment-forever’

So naturally, I repeat all of that out loud.

She giggles. The breeze dances across both of our faces.

“Listen,” she says, suddenly gravely serious, “this is not the end.”

“But how do you know that?” I ask, letting go of her hand.

But there’s no reply. She’s gone. I put my hands into my pockets and keep walking, alone, across the lonely strip of land that cuts through the middle of this lonely ocean. I still feel the warmth of her hand. I clench my fist to not let any of it escape.

Why are the words coming to me now? Why couldn’t I just say them moments ago while you were still here?

I would have turned to you and told you that I find it strikingly beautiful that, on an infinite spectrum of moments, there exists one such that your hand and my own were intertwined.

That for just one moment in time, there was nothing but connection between two people trying to find their way in a disconnected world.

I turn to look behind me: an endless ocean with an endless strip of land. I don’t know where this path on the water is taking me, but I hope you’re there when I arrive.