Ocean.

 I stare at the past like I stare at myself in this mug of tea

You hurt me.

And there are times now when I can't square with that because I look back and I thought we were building something

I thought that something would be built...

And it is, yeah? It is now and so I should be happy.

Past is past and means less than nothing

And yet I know that you did the things you did to me and I still want you: why?

The new me, the emerging me, the one crying inside the cocoon wants free of it.

"I wish I met you now. I wish that person back then was someone different. Someone not me."

I still mean that.

Because if it hadn't been me I wouldn't feel like something was endlessly wrong with me for wanting you.

I'd like to turn it all over like a pretty river rock

I'd like to look back at the me from then and laugh at her and call her foolish because it would be an easy thing, wouldn't it? And yet.

She wasn't. 

She was just... tired.

A child throwing rocks into the ocean trying to skip them and sometimes, sometimes they did skip, and that made all those other wasted stones worth it.

I see you now and you're endless skipping so far out onto the horizon it's like I'll never see the end of it

And yet there's this part of me scared I will. See the end. But it'll just be so much deeper.