Chapter 2 | Entry Twenty-One

"The tide doesn't apologize for coming in. The wave doesn't explain why it recedes. They just move. And somehow, that's enough."

Moon,

I'm learning that feelings move like water.

Some days, I wake up and there's this fullness in my chest, this aliveness that rises up so strong I can barely breathe around it. Other days my chest feels all mixed up like it's spinning. It's not sadness exactly, and it's not longing, though those are woven through it.

It's just...feeling.

A deep, oceanic feeling that fills every corner of me.

And on those days, I used to think it was all about him. That he created this in me. That every wave of sensation was because of what we shared, what we didn't get to finish, what I'm still holding onto.

But lately, I'm noticing something different.

The feeling is mine.

We created something together, that's true. Something opened between us that changed me, that woke something up I didn't know was sleeping.

But what I'm carrying now? What moves through me in these waves?

That's my half.

I get to hold it. Feel it. Move through life with it.

And somehow, I don't fully understand this yet, I can feel it without making every sensation about him.

Yesterday, I was walking by the water, watching the waves roll in and pull back, that endless rhythm of approach and retreat. And I felt it in my body, that same pattern.

The feeling rises. Fills me. Completely tumbles over like a crest.

And then it recedes. Settles back. Goes quiet.

It's not constant. It's not always at the surface.

Some days, I'm so full of love I don't know what to do with myself. My chest feels swollen, like my ribs are too small to hold everything inside. My skin feels electric, alive, like I could burst into light or tears or laughter and I wouldn't know which until it happened. I feel everything, the heartache, the beauty, the longing, the aliveness. It's almost too much to hold.

Other days, it's deeper. Quieter. Still there, but settled somewhere below the surface, a warmth in my belly, a heaviness in my limbs, something solid and anchored low in my body. I can go about my life without it pulling at me every moment. It's there when I reach for it, but it doesn't demand my attention. My breath moves slow and full. My shoulders relax. I can be still. And I'm learning that both are okay.

The wave doesn't apologize for being a wave.

It doesn't try to stay at the shore forever or promise to never come back.

It just moves.

This morning, I felt it rise again, that fullness in my chest, that depth that makes my heart feel too big for my ribs.

And my first instinct was to attach it to him. To make it mean something about us, about what I'm still holding, about whether I'll ever stop feeling this way.

But then I just... felt it.

I let it be there without needing it to mean anything.

Without needing him to be the reason for it.

Because yes, we created something together. Yes, what opened between us changed me.

But this feeling? This capacity to feel this deeply?

It's mine.

I get to carry it. Live with it. Let it move through me like tides.

And there's grief in that too.

Grief that I'm holding my half alone. That he's not here to feel his half with me. That whatever we created together exists now in two separate bodies, two separate lives.

But there's also something else.

Something like relief.

Because if this feeling is mine, if I can hold it and feel it and let it move through me without needing him to be the source of it, then I'm not as powerless as I thought.

I'm not waiting for him to make me feel alive.

I'm already alive.

The aliveness is in me.

It rises and falls like water. Some days it's everything. Some days it's quiet.

But it's always there.

And I'm learning to trust the rhythm of it. To let it come when it comes. To let it settle when it settles.

To stop trying to control the waves and just... be in the ocean.

I don't know if this makes sense.

I don't fully understand how I can feel this deeply and have it not be about him, when he's so woven into how it all began.

But somehow, it's true.

We made something together.

And now I get to hold my half.

Feel my way through life with it.

Let it teach me how to be this alive, this open, this full, even when I'm alone.

Especially when I'm alone.

Because maybe that's the whole point.

Not to stop feeling.

But to learn that the feeling is mine to hold.

—Still learning to hold my half of what we created