You venture into old waters, try them on for size, find it harder to float, find the rocks at the bottom to cut the soles of your feet in a way you swear they didn't use to. Everything is rip tide, everything is a tumble to the bottom, you try to catch your breath in the in-betweens but they are too short, too full of silt, your lungs contract in rebellion.
Do you remember that Christmas in Los Angeles, the way the ocean seemed to lead to forever? It felt like the only truth I'd ever need, then, but now I think it wasn't even me on that beach. I think I was a caterpillar, painting large eyes on my back, putting up fronts I had no business pretending, and I'm only now in the chrysalis, breaking down my every part into goo before I can make myself real again.
I didn't mean to show you these broken bits, these wrong turns. I didn't know I wouldn't be allowed to be remain a camouflaged caterpillar forever. I fear winter will come before I break out of this cocoon.
I fear winter will take us all
before our time.
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