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A glimmer of revelation lights up his eyes for a split second before he blinks it away. “I just…” Cal sighs, scrubbing at his face again. “You feel like my one and only anchor, Lucy, and I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to sink you down with me.” “I won’t let you sink. We’ll rise above.”
What I’m starting to realize is that things meant to happen are just going to happen. There’s no preparing, no preventing. They just happen. And the risks we take, the memories we make, are the only things that count. That’s all that matters. Everything else is going to happen anyway.
I think that was the moment I really felt like I could be something. For her, for me. We could be something. Fuck…I want to do it again. I want to fight and win and be worthy, but all I feel is buried.
No—I’m not sure about a lot, but I’m damn fucking sure about her. I just wish I was sure about me, too.
Cal locks eyes with me for a beat, almost like a plea for permission. Consent to breach this delicate wall of intimacy and trust. Releasing the breath I’ve been clinging to, I give him a small nod. And then the warm rag is traveling up my leg, knee to thigh, gently dabbing and washing. Cleaning me. Taking care of me.
Deceptive Cadence.
“Deceptive Cadence” You think you know what’s coming, but you never really do. And sometimes, when you think something is coming to an end, it’s actually the beginning of something beautiful. The words were tattooed along his lower back in jet black ink. A tribute. A homage. They were etched onto his skin, right beneath a pair of angel wings. And between the wings…was the outline of a glowing sun. Sunshine.
screen to type a reply. Cal: I was trying to be the bigger person but we both know that’s not what I want. The thought of another guy touching you makes me want to fucking die.
Songs are funny like that—you might not hear them play for years, but you still remember every word. And I think it’s because songs are more than words, more than notes, more than verses and choruses. Words fade and scatter over time, but songs tied to life’s most precious memories live inside of us forever.
“It was this…familiar safety net. Things felt a bit easier, just knowing they were there. Close by.”
“I don’t care how it happened, or where it happened. All I care about is who it happened with.”
Everyone has demons. Monsters lurking around every corner, whispering in your ear, hiding under your bed, living just beneath your skin. The key is turning your demons into friends. Companions. Don’t let them scare you. Don’t let them chase you. Let them run with you. Only then, you will win.
A wake-up call isn’t a full recovery—it’s a first step. It’s awareness. It’s a slap in the face, a reminder that we all have something worth losing and the real breakthrough is in the uphill battle we fight to keep it. Not everybody wakes up. Some of us go right back to sleep, and I refuse to be that person.
There’s no reason for suffering, but there’s always a reason to keep going.
“Home is something I buried a long time ago,” he tells me, voice cracking with sentiment. A breath passes between us, a drumbeat. And then he whispers, “But I buried it inside you. Just in case I ever wanted to go back.”
“Even a tragedy can have a happy ending. Sometimes we just need to write it in ourselves.”
It’s hard to celebrate a life in those heart-rending days post-loss. There’s no dancing, no laughter, no party poppers or noise makers. There’s no celebration to be felt when you’re putting your loved one in the ground and covering them with dirt and weeds. You’re not thinking about the time they had here, or the beautiful moments you were lucky enough to share with them while they were still alive—you’re only thinking about the gaping hole they’re leaving behind. The hard days ahead. A long, lonely life without them. No…there was no celebration to be had. Not then.
“What do you think she wished for that day?” Swallowing, I think back to Emma’s birthday entry written a month before all of her wishes were snuffed out forever. There’s no way to know the answer to that, of course, but if I know anything about my sister, it’s this: She never wished for herself. The people she loved came first, always. “I’m not sure,” I admit, stroking her hair, looking off into the setting sun. “But…I like to think it came true.” “Yeah,” she smiles against me. “Me, too.”
The image steals my attention for a beat before something else catches my eye. I think it’s a lantern at first. A tiny beam of light inching its way into my peripheral vision. When my head twists to the left, I blink. I blink again. It’s not a lantern light…it’s a firefly.
Within the tangled roots of grief, we stand to lose so much. But no one ever acknowledges what we stand to gain. Strength. Perspective. Appreciation. Resilience. Those things are often buried, overpowered by grief’s mighty right hand—suffering. They exist, though. There’s beauty in the breakdown, a glimmer of light hidden in the smoke. And sometimes, every once in a while, if you’re truly lucky… There is love.
We step off the wheel, his ring on my finger, and his hand in mine. We step off the wheel, but I think, in a way… We never leave the sky at all.
Memories ignite, dousing me in warmth instead of heartache. I inhale a deep breath and let it out. Let it go. I don’t let her go, but I let the pain go.
“Cool beans,”
