A silky memory, so slippery you might lose it, so soft you feel comforted by it, and yet, so cold to the touch that you fear it. It’s a faint vision, a piece of paper that fell between the files of my brain, untouched, but present. 

In this memory, I remember the silky, almost iridescent gleam of the waves that went up and so effortlessly came crashing back down. I remember observing them over and over, thinking how powerful they seemed. I remember the icy sting they left behind, and the anticipation they warranted as they arrived. 

But most importantly, I remember the peak sensation of thrill right before the wave hit and the overwhelming lack of senses as it trampled and forced me under. I remember air escaping my lungs and loathing saltwater taking its place. I remember struggling to stand up once again after a force so great knocked me down. I remember wobbling to my feet, finally regaining breath and flicking the salty tears from my eyes, and despite the missing pieces from such an event, I remember regaining my balance and going in the water once more, unthreatened and ready to try again. 

I wish that I was able to regain my balance now as easily as I did back then, to readjust my persona and rebuild my foundation as effortlessly as I used to. But now, the feelings that used to appear as monstrous, yet exhilarating waves from the view of my young eyes have morphed into a tsunami with horrid intentions. 

However, no matter how deep the water goes or how painfully it grasps me, for some reason, I can always see a minuscule speck of light peeking through, making the surface of the water appear like glass from my ever fading perspective. 

I can vividly remember the last gleam that pierced the water from the dropping sun that draped me in a feeling of warmth. It felt as though the sun was promising me that it would rise once more in the morning if only I promised to break the glass and shine alongside it.

And for a while, our promises—mine and the sun—rang true.

But with every rise in the morning and set at night, much like the rise and fall of the familiar waves in my imagination, it became ever worrisome that these consistencies would eventually run out too. Like a clock that stops ticking or a friend that graduates, there will always be a time limit on the things we thought we could count on.

I suppose by now, you would think I had learned my lessons that all things come and go, but with every lack of comforting personality that decides to leave me, I am once again reminded of the sting that people tend to leave behind when their presents hit you like a wave of emotions you can’t control.