The way the world shifts and moves inside of us is a curious thing. Like the waves pulling in with the tide, sure of their trajectory towards the shore, only to meet it and pull back out to the sea, to the depths, to the unknown.

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Your path, your journey, your life can move along seemingly unhindered. You can see the shore and you know where you are headed. Your foot lands on the sands, and in one quick gush of wind and solar pull, you’re getting further and further from the dry land.

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Facebook likes to remind me of all those times I’ve had with Gavyn in the hospital. Like the year we went on vacation and came home to him crashing and having shunt surgery. I still remember watching him trying to walk through the parking lot of the dolphin watch, he couldn’t walk a straight line to save his soul, the tide was pulling me out again. Or my 30th birthday he and I spent in the ER with his ventricles enlarging at a rapid pace. My dad holding him while the neurosurgeon placed a needle into his shunt and drained fluid from his brain while we all watched. Whish. Under the waves, sucked from the land.

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Tragedy has a way of taking you outside of your normal life.

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So can a kiss.

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A talk in a car while sitting in a park.

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Years of conversations culminating in one moment.

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Saying you’ll leave.

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You’ll leave.

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Leave.

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Curious tragedy.

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“I don’t think he’ll fight for me.”

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Crying.

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Knowing.

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Heartbreak.

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Over.

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Curious new beginning.

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“Did you forget something?”

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You.

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You didn’t say it out loud with your voice that day. You said it out loud with your actions. In your eyes. In your coming back. A curious thing. Something in me changed you. I’d watched you run from things for years. Quiet and curious, I’d watched your actions, I knew your patterns. Then in one quick afternoon, you did the opposite. Because of me.

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The tide went out, sucked us out with it, we went into the deep.

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A curious year, 2020, full of ups and downs, pushes and pulls, let downs and highs. We’ve all been tossed and turned and hardly know what is up from down. It helps to slow down and marvel in your surroundings.

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I like watching the light shift and change out my back window each morning that I write. The backyard covered in thick, dark gray, slowly lifting, shifting, morphing to gold. It reminds me everything changes every day.

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Everything changes. Every day. They change if I move or not. This week I’m choosing to move forward. It feels like moving towards the deep, in a good way.