An Early Goodbye?

I could stay this time… if you meet me halfway.

It’s 10:12 AM on a Saturday, as I write this, and as usual, I don’t have a direction—or should I say, a plot?

There’s a wet discomfort under my chin. Didn’t the skincare gurus say we should never sleep with our faces pressed into a pillow? They’d have a heart attack if they saw that I not only broke that rule, but did so on a cotton pillowcase soaked with salty water… my own doing.

Let’s cut to the chase.

I’ve always seen myself as a temporary person in everyone’s story. But sometimes, I look at someone and think, I’d like to stay here with you. Let me paint you a picture.

What comes to mind when you see butterflies? Beauty, flowers, gardens… all true. But I’ve always seen them differently.

Growing up, my sister and I would run around the compound chasing the brightest one we could find. When we finally caught this elusive beauty, we’d take it upstairs to our parents’ room, which was the prettiest room in the house.

We’d place it by the window so it could see the world from that height, convinced we had given it something close to a garden with beautiful flowers.

Alas! We were young and naive.

The butterfly always died within an hour.

Tragic, right? Maybe. But this is how I see myself: like a multicolored insect, prone to relapsing if caged.

A while ago, I met You.

And as with most people, I was elusive. Distant. I didn’t think you were important enough to matter. I made the first move, which, if you know me, means I didn’t expect you to become anything serious. A flirt, you could call me. I’ve accepted that much. I’m not even sure I’ll ever stop.

But for you, I thought I could.

Maybe I still can, if we stay.

It took me a month to let You in. You said you understood me, and every time you got something right about me, I asked, “How did you know that?”

But I’ve always known the truth: people only understand me when I let them. You only know as much as I decide to show.

You don’t know everything about me, but you know more than most, family included. And I think that’s… cute.

But there’s been a shift lately, and while I’ve talked to you about it longer than I would have liked, there’s still been no change. I was born a certain way—to be out of reach. This means that everything would work against me being in a particular place for too long, even when I don’t want to leave.

I can see that wave coming again.

That pull.

Yet we are not as cemented as I’d love us to be.

I want You to come with me, to quit holding back. I’ll admit it, you’ve given me a taste of my own medicine, and no, it doesn’t taste good. I almost feel guilty for the people I’ve left behind.

Almost.

So tell me…

Is this an early goodbye, before I’m washed off to the other side of the sea, with you beyond my reach?

This should mean something, right?

This thing—whatever it is.