sleeplessintothenight

[sleeplessintothenight]

New Year’s Day (1/2):

The night was coming to an end.

On the surface, I was the embodiment of the life of the party. The perfect host, connecting with everyone, like the center point of a spider’s web. Everyone connected because of me, but I felt that the new strands amongst themselves became stronger than any original tether to myself. It made me happy, and at the same time, incredibly sad. In the ocean of people, I was an option but never a priority. Who am I stand in the way of stronger compatibility?

I walked around as we began to say our final goodbyes. Thank yous and farewells were exchanged as a few of us embraced on the way out. Hug after hug, I bid them adieu.

I knew their hands were on my back because I could see them, but I couldn’t feel their touch beneath the layers of armor around my fractured heart. The thick sweater I wore was nothing compared to the ironclad walls that surrounded my fortress of solitude. Did I truly feel it was better this way or was I merely afraid to be dropped and abandoned once again?

I finished patting someone on the back and watched as the crowd slowly made their way out. One by one until only a few stragglers remained. That was when she caught my eye. A wallflower most of the night, she had bounced around, never quite finding somewhere to settle down. Oddly enough, she looked more comfortable, more at ease stacking empty cups that were strewn across the floor than during any conversation she had had that night.

I walked over and offered to take the stack of cups. It was my house after all, my mess to clean up when it was all said and done. She politely declined and said she didn’t mind, so I brought over a trash bag and helped to sort through the rest of the mess. Together we picked up bottles with just Spotify’s New Year’s playlist as our backdrop.

Aside from the few passed out on my couches, everyone else had shuffled out by this point in the night. We finished clearing away all the small things and all that was left to tackle were the tasks I had to do solo. I thanked her for her help and let her know she should get home before it got too late. She tossed the last few bottles into the bag and looked up at me. I reached for the bag to bring it over to the rest of my mess to sort through, but stopped.

She threw her arms around me with a gentleness that shocked me, and a firmness that kept me there. Stunned, it took me a moment to process what was happening. I slowly placed my hands on her back and held her the way she held me. I felt her warmth, her heartbeat. As the side of her head nestled into my shoulder for those 30 seconds or so, I truly wished this moment wouldn’t end.

And I wondered if a hug could truly hold together all the broken parts of me.

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New Year’s Day (2/2):

I felt myself floating around the sea of people, just as lost here as I felt inside my head. I reluctantly accepted my friend’s invite to a New Year’s party. The forecast was frigid and rainy and I wanted to do nothing more than curl up under my covers with a book and some hot cocoa before and early bed time.

We all use New Year’s as that accepted excuse to reset and restart our lives. It’s that little bit of extra motivation to make the changes we’re so reluctant to put the actual work into. There’s no reason we can’t start those changes at any time, but here I am, reluctantly at this party because of that little bit of false motivation.

My friend was quickly whisked away by some friends she hadn’t seen in a while and I felt my safety raft float away. Everyone here seemed to know everyone else, everyone but me. Again, I was alone. I tried my best to bounce around from group to group trying to find a conversation I could latch on to until it seemed socially acceptable for me to slip away.

As the night wore on, I felt my social battery depleting and had lost track of my friend. Everyone started saying their goodbyes and I felt the self-imposed pressure to stay lessen. I began my silent retreat when I stepped on a cup and heard it’s crunch reverberate through me. I froze, my anxiety telling me everyone heard that, but in reality it was drowned out by the Spotify playlist. Despite that, I knelt down and picked up the cracked cup, and then began picking up other bits and pieces on the floor.

For a moment, the rest of the room washed away.

Then the party host walked up to me. He was the tac in the middle of the board that every string was attached to. What a blessing that must be I thought to myself. He offered to take the cups from my hand. I stared at him blankly while the room began to take shape around me again. By the time I regained enough sense to respond he had already walked away, probably weirded out by the girl cleaning up random trash at a party. I grabbed a few more bottles in my vicinity to toss out and then disappear.

He returned with a bag and mumbled out a thank you before starting to grab other items. I placed my trash in the bag and started to collect a few more items. By now, most people had left, and the few that remained were sprawled out across various sofa cushions. There was a peacefulness and a calm quaintness to the two of us silently picking up trash together to the rhythms of the lingering playlist. I liked this. It was far more enjoyable than the rest of the night had been.

I stole a glance at him and noticed something. It was subtle, but I could tell his expression had changed from earlier in the night. He looked tired, but it was a different kind of exhaustion than the end of a long party that lingered on his face, like he couldn’t muster the strength to fake a smile any longer. I wondered if I was seeing the true him for the first time all night.

We had cleaned up most of the area as the song was coming to an end, and he got up to take the bag next to the others. We were standing face to face and I don’t know what came over me, but…

I reflexively reached my arms around him and pulled him in. Something in me felt that he needed this, that I needed this. I felt my cheeks blush as I leaned into this shoulder. My cheeks only grew redder as I heard the muffled sounds of bottles hitting the ground as he returned the favor. He rubbed my back as I felt his warm breath whisper past my ear.

We both just stood there, the only reminder of the passage of time was the next song beginning.

For a moment, I wondered if this could last a little bit longer.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Again

“Am I getting bad again?” I asked to myself.

I felt the tips of my hair gently brush into the valley of my eyes. It was a sensation I wasn’t used to feeling. My hair was rarely long enough to mingle with the surface of my forehead, let alone tangle with my eyebrows. I swayed my head back and forth trying to reveal the darkness that my hair shrouded me from as my arms lay dangling by my side.

After failed attempts, I stopped and whispered to myself again.

The sounds of crickets in the night did little to block out the storm raging within. Murmurs and whispers were all around, but I knew they all belonged to me. A war was being waged for my attention, but I was the only casualty. Any attempts at a ceasefire only lasted seconds before each side came back stronger and louder.

The one consolation was the distraction from the minefield that surrounded my bed. Piles of laundry lay strewn across the floor like rocks to save you from lava. I couldn’t tell you if they were dirty or clean. Messes were good at hiding things. Books were everywhere except the bookshelf I took them from. Some were left by my bedside while others stacked up high enough to be a stool. All of them remained unfinished, but littered with post-it notes for quotes to come back to later. One day I’ll compile them all. But today is clearly not that day.

I mustered the energy to roll over and blind myself by the endless scroll of score updates and haven’t heard from yous. Did it really matter? A couple fresh ones slid in, but I ignored them just the same. I flipped the phone over and did the same. Once again the night consumed everything except for my breath whispering, “Am I getting bad again?”

-----

@sleeplessintothenight

[sleeplessintothenight]

I may not be a strong person, but I am trying to stand with those who have stood by me. I am not a black person, I don’t know your struggle, and I probably will never fully experience/understand it. But your lives matter just as much as mine do.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Moonlit Sails

Dryness consumed my throat as my hands fell to my side. I looked over to my best friend, the groom, and saw the tears in his typically stoic face. Rays from the setting sun lit up the bride and the groom like a natural spotlight. The room raised their glasses before filling with the sound of clapping. Tears filled my eyes as I returned to my table. A beautiful day for a beautiful couple.

I swirled the liquid in my glass, pretending the water was something stronger, before raising it to my lips. I looked around at the empty table. Everyone else and their plus ones were enjoying another evening slow dance. Some of them married, others only a matter of time. I took another sip of false courage and dragged my shy self to the dance floor. If nothing else, I would work myself to an easy sleep back at the hotel.

When my feet began to hurt, I stepped away to gather my breath. With a full glass in hand I found my way outside for some fresh air. I leaned against the wooden railing and looked at the town across the water. I imagined sailboats racing under the moonlight from one shore to the other. The sounds of the waves helped to quiet the music that raged inside. I took a sip and just enjoyed the calming crashes onto shore. I looked up hoping for a shooting start to wish upon, but was greeted by the usual suspects. Maybe another time I thought as I took another sip.

It was the first one of my friend’s wedding, but my Facebook timeline told me more were on the horizon. I laughed at the thought that this wedding wasn’t quite like movie versions I expected. I cried as much as much as I did during the wedding scene in Crazy Rich Asians, but tonight was more in line with the weddings I attended with family as a kid. I guess movies aren’t the best representations for real life. Seeing one of my coupled friends actually tying the knot was a moment more special than any movie.

I took another sip and checked my phone. I brought my gaze back to the water and enjoyed the reflection of the stars. The evening wind began to fill my coattails ushering me back inside.

The evening wound down and the dancing slowed. Goodbyes were exchanged between close friends I haven’t seen in years. Distance is one of the biggest obstacles of adult life that no one tells you about. For the evening it felt like the good old days. As we left each others embraces, we once again went our separate ways. Until next time we told each other.

I opened my eyes as my face emerged from beneath the water. As I started to sit up, I could feel the swish and swash of the water level across my naked body. It must have been half an hour or so in the tub. I heard a knock at the bathroom door. I could hear the muffled sounds from my hotel-mate’s phone as he made sure I didn’t drown. I reassured him as I let myself sink below the surface. I kicked the drain and waited for my face to be revealed once again.

I toweled off and made my way back to my bed. I laid down and stared lazily at the television as I waited for my hair to finish drying. I put my headphones in to help drown out my friend’s intimate phone conversation. The voices of the podcast I had fallen behind on filled my ears as I took a deep breath and sank deeper into the mattress and pillows. My limbs exhausted from the evening dancing embraced the softness of my surroundings. The body was ready to shut down, but the mind still wandered.

I leaned to my left and grabbed my phone to scroll through my various social media outlets. After quickly exhausting them, I found myself opening a dating app. It was mindless, like clockwork. I started swiping left and right reflexively as my mind began to drift. I felt a buzz next to my pillow as my eyes slowly closed, unsure of what would come of a potential connection in a town so far from home.

I awoke to a good morning message.

A couple members of the wedding party groggily made our way to a small place by the water for one last brunch before departing. As we waited for our table to be ready, I sat near the shore and watched the boats passing by. They elegantly danced atop the water’s surface with the wind behind their sails. I scrolled through her profile again trying to find something to make a witty pun out of. Was it even worth it? I desperately wanted to respond, but I hesitated. I was passing through town for the weekend and then I’d be gone as soon as I had arrived. I started to type a few letters as I heard the bride calling us back for our table.

At the edge of the table, I asked one of my friends what I should do. He laughed it off as he concentrated on what he was going to order. He said, “We’re eating out, treat yourself to something you won’t have at home,” while elbowing me in the side. I pulled my phone out again to scroll through the profile. I began trying to type words again, but I still didn’t know what I wanted to say. The waitress came by to take our orders and I put the phone down as I decided what I wanted.

In between bites of food, I typed out a few words only to quickly delete them again. I lived states away, but I felt this instant attraction. I debated what I should do. True love should be able to conquer any distance right? Was I even in a spot mentally to handle something long distance?  I thought about the lack of success back home and thought maybe this could work. Was she just another pretty face that I had fallen for before knowing anything about her? She was the first match in a while, so it had to be a sign right? I searched my mind for how I felt about the situation, but I had no clue to know what her feelings were.

Brunch was wrapping up and I felt the pressure to make a decision. In a few hours, I would check out of my hotel and disappear into the wind. I prefaced it with my departure. I expressed my attraction and hope to get to know her more. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what my intentions were. I hoped something could come of it, but left it open-ended.

Back at the hotel, we all said one last goodbye before returning to our previous lives. I looked around the hotel room making sure I left nothing behind. It reminded me of the last time we all left our college dorm rooms our senior year. I closed the trunk of my car and checked my phone one last time before silencing it for the GPS. There wasn’t a response.

Believing life could be like a movie, I had hoped that this spark would reignite something that had faded in my heart. There was emptiness that echoed throughout the previous night. I thought maybe after it all, I’d have something to remind me of this brief moment in time. I had hoped for a memorable story that I could tell for years to come.

I turned the key and prepared myself for the long drive home. I had a lot on my mind and plenty of time to sort through it all. I turned on the radio and queued up a podcast playlist. I went through my mental checklist as the conversation began to come through the speakers. The first guest began a story about a missed connection:

We were two ships passing in the night. Each of us emerged from the fog for long enough to see one another. Exchanging stories as we drifted towards each one another and then eventually apart. We contemplated latching our boats together, but deep down we knew our destinations were in different directions. We shared a quiet moment underneath the moonlight before the fog consumed us once again.

I started to shift gears as I turned on the road.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Jenga

We all gathered round. Some of us eager and some of us reluctant to play the game before us. Was it the first choice? Not necessarily, but our options were limited so we decided to partake in this fragile game.

Piece by piece we stacked each block in groups of 3. With each moment the tower grew in height before our eyes. We carefully aligned each corner with another until it felt like one unified block. With a strong base it stood sturdy in the center of the table. Some members attempted to blow the tower over. With each failed attempt, we declared the tower stable and ready to play. The rules were simple. All we had to do was pull a block out and place it at the top. Just make sure that you weren’t the one that caused the tower to crumble towards its demise. We decided that the oldest should go first. We looked around and with that the game began.

Being in the middle, I patiently waited my turn. The beginning was easy. There’s so much to choose from. You can’t really mess it up this early unless you’re trying to lose. My turn came. I tapped a few blocks and removed the first one that loosely gave way with no regard for how it may affect the endgame. I lazily placed it at the top and ended my turn. Our fate was out of my hands for another few turns.

The first few rounds came and gone without much trouble, but from an outside view the tower was in trouble. It was always in trouble. A flawed system with self-destructing tendencies. We all started with high hopes and were impressed with how well we had constructed our initial tower. But history always repeats itself. The tower was going to crumble despite our best efforts.

By now the game had started to slow. We had been playing for a while now so the options became scarce. Many like myself played only for the short term and left the foundation unstable. What was once a pillar of stability morphed into a leaning tower that had ravaged itself with hopes of being the tallest. My turn came and I paused. I scratched the beard that I finally let grow out as I contemplated which block to displace. I didn’t see any clear options. As carefully as I could, I tapped a few blocks looking for the slightest wiggle. But even the faintest tap caused reverberations throughout the entire tower. At this stage even a sneeze could cause it to come crashing down.

I found my piece. With surgical precision I began to remove it. I held my breath hoping to steady my shaking hand. With the piece successfully removed I backed away and turned my had to exhale away from the table. I took a moment to gather myself before once again holding my breath. I slowly approached the tower with block in hand. It was a delicate balance. If I dropped the block, even from a centimeter, the shockwave would surely take it all down, yet if placed the block with the tiniest bit of extra pressure, the downward force would result in the same conclusion. I treated it as though it was a life or death situation. I slowly backed away and prayed that I didn’t cause our demise. I exhaled. I made sure to be far enough away so that I couldn’t cause any additional harm. My turn was over and the mantle of responsibility passed on to the next person.

Relieved, I looked around the table to see how everyone else was doing. I was so hyper-focused on my own struggle a few minutes ago that I hadn’t noticed everyone else’s demeanor. For some people I could see the wheels turning despite their absolute stillness. They were holding their breath trying to figure out their next move a few turns ahead of their own. All they knew is that they wanted it to continue, but more importantly not be the one to blame. In contrast, some members started to get restless. Their body language screamed, “I don’t want to this anymore.” Their last few rounds weren’t as careful as they had been. I wasn’t sure if they lost interest in playing or they didn’t care about winning. Regardless, they were playing reckless, threatening to endanger everything we had built. It was a group project that needed everyone’s total participation. I felt the rest of us collectively hold our breath during this turn.

A block was removed.

Stillness.

It got placed at the top.

The tower leaned one way.

Then back the other.

Life moved in slow-motion as we waited for the outcome.

It eventually stopped.

The group collectively exhaled. We lived to play another round, but the pressure was mounting. No one wanted to be next. People started counting how many turns until the spotlight was on them, hoping that it would never get to that far. At this point, even the most careful of players were in danger.

Despite our best efforts to hold on, the tower eventually came crashing down like it always did. We all screamed in despair then laughed before placing blame on the last player. We looked around the room to see who would play again. A few people put their hands up while others left the table for something else. Our circle shrank, but we started to assemble to stack the of blocks again.

As I was making my groups of 3, I looked over my shoulder to see what other people chose to do. Some people started playing Playstation, others got some food, while the most competitive player decided to sit this round out. I could see the frustration in the way he slumped into the couch to watch some Netflix. He tried so hard to win. Did he expect us all to play seriously as him because we were stuck in the same situation?

I returned my attention to the table. I put the last stack atop the tower and we were ready to begin another round. I was determined to win, to not be the one who sent it all tumbling down. My legs were still twitching a little bit from the last round. As I struggled to find an easy block for the first round I began to worry. I didn’t want to lose. I could feel fear sinking in.

This game has no true winners, just losers.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Reflection

I lay there, yawning, hoping the body would give out before the mind did. This was usually the case, but not recently. The more I desired to drift away, the harder I was pulled back. Nothing cooperated. Did my body just not understand what to do with a couple weeks of ample sleep after years of deprivation? Subconsciously did it not believe that this was a possibility? Was it a self-destructive tendency influenced so heavily by the host, too scared to allow itself to be happy? Without a struggle, how could you brag to others about how hard you hustled? A struggle or rather a disillusioned excuse used as a safety net for an impending fall.

Even in the darkness with my eyes heavy I could feel my mind racing faster than it had all day. Instead of dreams, I fixated on the paradox of my laundry bin overflowing despite laying in the same shirt for the 5th day in a row. I reluctantly touched my face, unable to comprehend a roughness I hadn’t experienced before. I tugged at it and the pain grounded my new reality.

Despite my best efforts I continued to lay there restless. I contemplated stepping into the office. I always dreamed of being able to teleport to work to cut down on the long commute, but I never intended it like this. A cleared away kitchen counter with just enough space to fit a laptop. The surrounding clutter gave a familiarity that for the time being only existed in memory. When the office is so close, when do the emails stop? When does the phone stop ringing? At what point do I learn that “off the clock” should still mean off the clock? The other day I laughed at a joke from a stuffed duck drinking at the Brita. I sat at my desk attempting to go through the motions before closing up shop and returning home.

In the darkness was stillness. There existed a rare quiet that had recently become commonplace. An off-putting juxtaposition to what I had become accustomed to. Alone with the demons I spent all day and everyday pushing away with whatever was available. I lay there defenseless with my armory depleted. Shattered memories of basketball at the gym or dinner with friends all lay broken across the barren mindscape. I could no longer access these once powerful assets. I contemplated alternate methods, but the only things available to me were what I had before all of this.

This was a long time coming.

I always hated running, but this was the one exception. Trapped, I just lay there awaiting the inevitable. A battle beginning in the mental space, but often ending in the physical one. Through the darkness we locked eyes. I saw my reflection in his and his in mine. There was no turning back now.

All these years we grew side-by-side. My journey had been an up and down roller coaster, oftentimes with no clear goal. On the other side he trained relentlessly day after day with one goal in mind. On the days I slacked off, he was grinding away. That’s the fear, that’s the struggle, the feeling of guilt whenever I took a step backward, I knew it meant he had taken two steps forward.

I was losing ground on this eternal tug of war despite my best efforts. Every waking moment I felt the unrelenting pressure of the constant pull into darkness. Without the help of my usual activities helping stake me into the ground I found myself standing closer to him than ever before. Like a black hole, the closer I got, the harder it was to get away. I was getting worn down. I found myself exposed to the storm far longer than ever before. Everywhere I looked it surrounded me on all sides, an endless house of mirrors with no clear exit.

Overwhelmed I could do nothing but curl into a ball hoping that if I closed my eyes long enough it would all go away. I believed that if I shut them harder it would have a greater effect, but deep down I knew it was wasted effort. I rolled around like I was trying to put out a fire, hoping that when it ceased my body would finally find some rest. I yawned once again, but it felt like an empty gesture.

I sat up and stared into the darkness. My eyes didn’t need to adjust for this. Staring back at me were the distorted reflections of who I was and who I might become. I reached out. Trapped on the other side of the glass I could do little more than observe. I desperately wanted hold him, pat him on the back, give him some reassurance that things would be all right even if I didn’t fully believe it either. There wasn’t much we could do, so we just sat there in silence. Slowly I began to speak. At first it was incoherent rambling, but eventually we both understood the words coming out of my mouth before sitting in silence once again.

I opened my mouth to continue speaking, but he gestured that it had been enough. He nodded before fading away. A door in this labyrinth opened. Ever so slightly I could feel myself moving away from the eye of the storm as the stranglehold of the darkness lifted by one finger. There were still many doors that remained shut waiting to be opened. One by one I would need to go through them if I had any hope of truly escaping. Through the years I had amassed quite the collection I had neglected.

With the state of everything, for better or worse, I involuntarily found myself with time on my hands. Every moment I spent in this maze, I was trapped in a purgatory state somewhere between the exhaustion and the ability to rest. At the heart of it all I was pulled in all directions with neither side able to gain an edge. Piece by piece I could begin to dismantle this impossible prison. What was once overwhelming had a chance to be manageable.

Alone, I could do nothing more than pour my efforts into escaping. One caveat though, prolonged exposure ran the risk of taking steps backwards. I could only handle so much at a time before getting lost once again. There was the risk of the mind giving out before the body. No matter how small, each door I unlocked took everything I had. Like a Pixar movie even something so beautiful reduced me to tears.

I lost track of how long the struggle had been going on for. I was tempted to check, but knew I would regret it. The sun began to rise on this night and slowly the darkness began to dissipate. I could see it receding to edges of my room, hiding in the shadows waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

Even if I did manage to break free, the risk of return always loomed. New doors will always be found. If I failed to acknowledge the lessons I’ve learned, then I would continue to find myself at the center of a maze much deeper than before. But One day I will stare at my final reflection and it will be just that.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Sand Castle

I felt a pain in my chest with each breath I took. I could feel my heart pounding. My whole body was covered in sweat, bleeding through what clothes I had on. My hands raised up to push another branch aside only to have it claw its way down my exposed arms. In the past I would have given up, but this was different. With each step she took, I was determined to follow suit. This particular dance had been going for hours, but it started way before all of this. Sometimes the body gives out before the mind does.

I gripped a tree trunk as I fell to one knee. My heavy breathing grew loud enough for her to stop in her tracks. She turned around and slowly made her way back to me. Her footsteps were silent as she navigated her way through the dried leaves and loose rocks on this midmorning autumn hike. I looked up and there she was, the sun brightening to top of her hair like a halo as she stood there with one hand on her hip and the other extending a bottle of water in my direction. Almost there I thought to myself.

“Come on slowpoke, we’re almost there,” she jested.

Unable to respond, I took a sip of water.

“If I remember correctly,” she said in a mocking fashion, “You’re the one who picked this trail.”

I handed the bottle back and slowly got to my feet with her help.

“I picked it because the app said it had a castle at the top, there was no mention that I would die on the way up.”

“You’ve gotten this far, no point in turning back. I can hear some other people, the top is probably just over this last hump. Isn’t it the struggle that makes the triumph feel that much better?”

She started to run ahead as I slowly began to follow. The gap between us was growing, but I knew I would close it, I had no other choice. She was right, we had gotten this far. All the ups and downs would make this moment that much sweeter. Pain is temporary even if it feels like it will last forever. We may go at our own paces, but in the end it’s always the two of us together. I pushed through the struggle and the doubt and found myself at a clearing. I had made it.

“Took you long enough slowpoke.”

Between gasps for air I said, “It was all planned. Perfect timing. The sun is just now starting to set.”

Just like the description stated, atop the mountain stood the vast remains of a castle. We walked towards it, taking pictures to show off, before parking ourselves on an empty bench that overlooked the trails we had taken to get to this point. It was strange seeing things from this vantage point. From up here you couldn’t see all the rocks we climbed or any of the branches we tripped over, the tops of the trees helped to mask it but we knew what it really took to get to this point. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled our bodies together. I could feel her heart beating. as I’m sure she could feel mine, as we admired the beauty around us.

I turned to her and said, “Legend has it that some guy built this castle as a symbol of his enduring love to his wife.”

She turned to me and asked, “Is that so? What if I wanted a castle, would you build me one? What would you build it out of?

I paused for a moment to think it over. A simple question, but at the same time a loaded one. I opened my mouth to speak, but I stopped. It was a few moments before I finally answered, “Sand.” I could see her forehead begin to crinkle and her eyebrows begin to furrow. As she started to open her mouth, I said, “Let me explain. I chose a sand castle because when the tide comes in, it sweeps through and often times washes the castle aw—”

Before I could finish I felt the sting of her hand across my face. Stunned by what had just happened, by the time I reached for her arm she had already walked away with tears in her eyes.

“A fucking sand castle?!” she screamed as the distance between us grew. I sat their frozen beneath the setting sun as she walked to bench on the other side of the castle. I couldn’t hear the sound of her sobs, but I knew they were there. I was no stranger, I’ve heard them before. I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself before walking over. I wanted to give her time as well.

A few moments passed and the sun was almost gone at this point. I looked back, half expecting to be stranded atop the mountain as night fell upon us. I made my way through the oncoming darkness until I found the new bench she occupied. I could still see the tears in her eyes. I took the seat next to her. She acknowledged I sat down, but refused to look in my direction. I cupped her jaw with one hand, turning it towards me and with the other I wiped her tears with a tissue.

“You know I love you more than anything right?”

“Then why would you say that you want our love to be a sand castle that easily gets washed away?”

“I didn’t finish”.

“That’s what they always say.”

“A castle made of stone or whatever that supposedly lasts forever isn’t true, or at least that’s not the love I believe in. Something like that stays stuck in one spot and won’t budge. How often is something so easy that you never have to change it?”

I paused as I felt her turning.

“Yes a sand castle may get washed away by the waves of the rising tide, but you go back and you rebuild that sand castle again and again knowing that the waves will return. You try a couple different things like a moat or another tower hoping that these changes will help the castle survive the next wave. Maybe the additions help or maybe you’re rebuilding it all over again, continuing to expand and evolve the dream.”

She slowed her sobs and began to hold my hand in hers.

“We’ve been knocked over by wave after wave and we’ve continued to get back up and keep building. We’re different from who we were when we first met, I’m sure of it. And I’m sure there will be more waves in our future as well.” I could feel her thumb rubbing my palm, mirroring my thumb on the back of her hand.

“I had hoped today would have been better circumstances.” I paused for a moment while reaching into my pocket. “Will you continue to build sand castles with me for the rest of our lives?”

[sleeplessintothenight]

Gone

My eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the sunlight that attempted to raid the confines of my room. Blackout curtain fortifications did their best, but even they couldn’t stop it all. I tried to close them once again to escape my current reality with hopes of returning to a dream world far better than this. I slowed my breathing until the air in and out of my lungs were the only focus of my ears. Feeling near the cusp, I allowed my muscles to loosen up, releasing all the stored up tension. On the other side of this breath lay my eternal salvation, a beautiful world not dissimilar to our own. As I reached my hand for it, I was met by an invisible barrier and swiftly pulled back.

My eyes awoke once again to the nightmare I was living. Awoken by voices close enough to hear, but far enough away to be out of reach.

“He fucking left!” made it’s way through one ear as it slowly registered in my brain.

Dreams are fragile things. I rubbed my eyes a couple of times to help them adjust to my surroundings. Everything was just as I had left it the night before. My lamp was still on. My phone, unplugged, lay dead beside me. Clothes were scattered across the carpet, encircling my bed like a ring of salt attempting to keep my demons at bay.

“I can’t believe he fucking left!”

This time so loud I questioned if my solitude was actually solitude. I slowly turned my head to the right to reveal nothing but my bookshelf filled with pages of what I hoped would help me find what I was looking for. I rolled back to my other side and plugged my phone in. I breathed a sigh in solitary and let my mind re-center as it slowly started to power up.

I attempted to recall what day it was, but I struggled. At this point, the days were beginning to blend together. With my schedule, nights already bled into mornings, but now that I couldn’t leave, the routines that broke up my day faded away. It was a nonstop marathon of staring at screens until I passed out, only to do it again and again.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

The vibration of my phone broke up my cycle of introspection. I found out the day. It was a Tuesday. March 17. It had barely been a week into this, but it felt much longer. Atop my notifications was the probable cause of the anger on the other side of the wall. I read it over and over again. I started to type out a text, but stopped. I set my phone down and just let the news sink in. It didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t angry, but not quite disappointed. I was sad, but I understood it.

I closed my eyes and once again attempted to drift away.

[sleeplessintothenight]

“Banana Bread”

---

I felt the individual grains slide through my fingers as I broke up the crystalline clusters in my hand. After all the clumps were out, I carefully measured out 1 cup of the fine white sugar. I stepped back and grabbed the melted butter from the microwave. It swished and sloshed its way around the edge of the bowl coming dangerously close to spilling over as I skipped to along to Taylor Swift’s newest single. In one hand I held the sugar and the other, the butter. With a little nudge both of them began to meld together at the bottom of the metal bowl. They started to combine on their own, but like all things in life there needed to be a little extra effort to get them to come together. Around and around went the wooden spoon. Despite going in endless circles, the mixture found itself at a new destination far away from where it began. I thought about what else this was true for.

Two eggs next. I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a couple from the pile of mismatched eggs. One brown, one white. Visually different on the outside, but all the same on the inside. I never noticed a difference in taste between them, so I always went with whichever was on sale. Is there a difference and I’m too oblivious to know? Who knows? I spun them around in my hand, around and around in a circle until I was ready to crack one. A nervous tick, something to keep my hands occupied until my mind caught up. Around and around the eggs circled to the pace of the chorus, going nowhere closer to their final destination.

As the song began to fade, I stopped spinning and let one roll on the table slowly to make sure it did not end up a failure on the floor. I’ve cracked countless eggs in my life, it’s like second nature, but the one skill that has eluded me is the one-handed crack. Something so elegant and efficient that I’ve desired learn. Despite my best efforts, the dexterity required was way above what I had been able to achieve. An egg cracked with two hands eggs is exactly the same as an egg cracked with one, but I felt a sadness from my deficiency.

With one egg in hand, I shook it a bit like I always did and then slammed it long side down into the countertop. Cracking an egg takes a level of precision that you don’t really think about. Too hard and it’ll shatter leaving yolk everywhere. Too soft and you’ll fail to get through and lay the groundwork for a spider web of tiny cracks destined to splinter throughout the yolk when you finally get through. Every egg is a little different. Fragility disguised by tough exteriors waiting to be broken. Some need more force, others need more care. Underneath it all a soft yellow yolk wrapped in transparency, naked and ready to be molded together with other ingredients. After the second yolk joined its predecessor, round and round they went until they were part of something larger.

A splash of vanilla extract. A shot of intense flavor to shake things up. A little goes a long way. Have you ever tried licking some that’s dripped on your hand? Your eyes will widen a bit and probably contort your face in one way or another. A little goes a long way. It’s not great on its own, but even it’s necessary to your success.

Ripe bananas. Actually, the riper the better. Battered and bruised, soft and squishy. I’m not sure of the science behind it, but those are the sweetest. The bitterness goes away slowly as they mature. Something about that feels counterintuitive. Regardless, the handful on my counter appeared ready. Patiently waiting throughout the week for their time. If bananas could think, would they wonder why others were chosen each morning for my breakfast as they stayed put? Day by day as another one was ripped away for cereal or to accompany an omelet, did the remaining ones wonder if tomorrow would be their time? Did they wish to be picked apart or did they fear it? Would those left behind know that they had a different purpose, and one day they too would be chosen? I picked them up and gave them a quick squeeze to check their tenderness. I peeled back their outer skin to expose their softening insides, as their exteriors broke down, so did the flesh inside. A little brown and mushy, almost sickly, they would be too ripe to consume on their own, but they were the perfect addition to the rest of the batter. With each stir, the bananas blended together with the others until their deformities were no longer visible.

In a separate bowl, I combined the flour, baking soda, and a pinch of salt. As a kid, I never quite understood why baked goods always included salt. Why would something sweet want, or rather, need salt? Balance. Too much of anything will ruin something. Just a pinch to keep the rest in check. As I sifted the dry ingredients together, they too found their own way to play well together.

Slowly, I folded in the dry ingredients little by little. With each passing moment, the running liquid slowed to a crawl. Each scoop helping to strengthen the batter and make it thicker. Each stir got a little tougher and tougher with each pass. Slowly it’s complexion changed until the mixture evolved once more. All the parts came together in preparation for something more. I begin to imagine the smiles and praises from those who would taste it in the coming days. That helped to put a smile on my face for the moment. I sprinkled in a handful of chocolate chips and clapped my hands in completion.

At last came time to put my concoction into the oven. Science, logic, and instructions told me that in forty minutes this pan of goop would transform into a loaf of banana bread, but there was still a bit of hesitation in my mind. It was silly to fear because I had made this recipe many times before and it always was a success. Even the times when it stayed in the oven a few minutes too long, it still retained the sweetness I was hoping for. It may have been a little tougher, but still, it was loved by all. Not perfect, but still a success if anyone was counting. Even if meticulously followed every single instruction to the finest of details, something was always out of my control. Maybe that’s what worried me.

---

Sleepless Into the Night (10/5/19)

[sleeplessintothenight]

The start of something or the end of nothing.

“Candle”

—-

I stared at the dancing flame, mesmerized by the star atop the candle. As I reached for it, I could feel its warmth on this chilly autumn night. This playful back and forth as I attempted to get closer and closer. My whole life I was told to not play with fire, but I could not ignore its allure. Maybe it was the years of watching from afar. Maybe it was nothing more than the desire for warmth to stop the shivering.

How silly of me to believe that I would not get burned.

—

Sleepless into the Night (10/1/19)

[sleeplessintothenight]

Ashes

---

“I hoped that this spark would reignite the embers that had faded in my heart. For a while, there was a vast emptiness that echoed throughout the night. Maybe after it all, I’d have some ashes remain to remind me of this brief moment. Maybe sometime in the future the stars will align and we’ll be able to look up at them together, my hand in yours hand as we quietly remember all the events that led up to this moment.”

---

Sleepless Into the Night (9/19/19)

[sleeplessintothenight]

Moonlit Sails:

----

We were two ships passing in the ocean. Each of us emerged from the fog for long enough to see one another. Exchanging stories as we drifted towards each other and eventually apart. We contemplated latching our boats together, but deep down we knew our destinations were in different directions. We shared a quiet moment underneath the moonlight before the fog consumed us once more.”

----

Sleepless Into the Night (9/19/19)

[sleeplessintothenight]

Kintsugi

Kintsugi

---

Before I knew it, I found myself lying on the ground. I sat up and saw the disaster in front of me. My roommate ran in after hearing a crash and knelt down beside me. I stayed staring forward. I couldn’t break my stare with the pile of shattered glass that replaced my vase.

My mind raced doing its best to recount all the events that led to this moment. A flurry of memories competed for attention as I attempted to sort clutter in my mind. Did this happen before this? No wait, this was first and then it caused this. But this must have come before that. I broke my glance to stare at my hands and then back again at the pile. My eyes’ focus kept shifting between my hands and the pile and back again. One thought came to the forefront silencing all the others, “Was this my fault?”

I could feel my heart starting to beat faster and faster as one tear became a flood down my face. I tried to open my mouth to say something, but it was muffled by the sobs and sniffles. I brushed my hand across my cheeks to wipe away the tears, but like a windshield in heavy rain, the wipers couldn’t move fast enough. So many questions clawed away at the insides of my head. Desperately I gasped for air hoping that one of these questions would escape and lessen the pain. The harder they fought to escape, the harder the mind held on to them, afraid of what my roommate would think of my incoherent meltdown.

My roommate slowly got up and asked, “Should I go grab the broom and dust pan? I think I’ll go and grab ‘em now.”

As she left the room, I feebly let out, “No, it’s okay. I’ll grab it later. Thanks though.”

After a few minutes I finally began to catch my breath. The tears began to dry up and my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.

I just needed some time to absorb all that happened. I crawled forward and leaned over the pile. A distorted and muddied reflection looked up at me from the ground. I’ve had this vase for as long as I can remember. It was a gift from my parents. I found it on my fifth birthday when my parents took me through a craft fair in the park. When we got home, my mother told me to fill it up with all the things that make up me. For the past 20 years or so, I filled it with fortunes I loved, Dove chocolate wrappers, horoscope clippings, and little scraps of paper where I wrote down my goals, hopes, and dreams. I slowly sifted through the sharp edges and dug through the old memories. I unfolded a wrapper and couldn’t help but crack a smile at the quote written inside: “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” I folded it back up and reached for a fortune: “Do not give up; the beginning is always the hardest.” It even had my lucky numbers in their recommendations. I grabbed another: “Now is the time to try something new.” I tossed them back into the pile and started to unfold a wrinkled post-it note revealing what I wanted to be when I grew up and how many kids I wanted to have. I guess at one time in my life I believed the notes I put in here.

I continued to run my hand through the broken pieces of me, feeling each edge against my fragile skin. I cupped my hands together and raised a pile up to my chest like a newborn baby. I blew a kiss and let the fragments of my past fall through the gaps between my bleeding fingers like sand in an hourglass. Once the last piece fell from my hand, I pushed the pile deeper into the corner of my bedroom. Still seated, I reached up onto my nightstand to grab a couple tissues to wipe off my hands. Next, I reached for my phone and opened the camera app. I leaned in closer again and snapped a picture. I swiped through the various filters before ultimately deciding on one. I began typing out the caption “Mood,” but deleted it to write out “My life right now.” I hit post and waited for the likes and comments to flood my notifications.

I took one last glance at the pile of broken dreams before falling backward and letting my arms fall to my side. I pulled my hood over my eyes and just lay there. I let the blips and buzzes become the background music as I let my mind begin to wander in to a much-needed nap.

As I opened my eyes I thought about sitting up, but decided against seeing the pile another time and reached for my phone. I smiled at all the likes and began to like back all the comments saying “Same.” After exhausting the comment section, I flipped through all the accounts posting depressing poetry over sunset photos. Double tap after double tap, I added to my collection the words to describe what I was afraid to tell anyone.

My scrolling was abruptly interrupted by an incoming call from a childhood friend. I hit ignore and continued to scroll. Again the incoming call consumed the screen, and again I ignored it. After I ignored the third call, he texted: “How are you doing? Let me know if you want to chat.” I could only respond with a thank you and few words about how I would figure out a way to get over it.

I sifted through the pile and wondered if I could put this back together. A pit in my stomach grew as a daunting task grew towards impossible. I frantically searched my memories for snapshots of its former self. Panic ensued as the pressure of preservation began to blur what I used to know. What hope would I have to put it back together if I struggled to remember its shape? As I reached for details, they hid deeper into the darkness that clouded my mind.

My friend texted again. Just a link to an article titled: “Kintsugi: The Beauty in Destruction.” I clicked and began to read. Kintsugi roughly translated to “golden repair.” The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold or silver.  It was strangely therapeutic reading that the philosophy of the art form is about embracing these “scars” as a part of its past and celebrates the imperfections of the repaired object.

I felt a calmness growing in me as I began to search for kintsugi photos. Google and Pinterest searches revealed a plethora of vases lined with golden streaks highlighting where edges had come back together. It baffled me. So many things in our lives today are easily replaceable. I could easily buy a new vase, but I knew this was about more than that. As I continued to scroll through gallery after gallery a bit of hope began to grow inside of me.

I sat up and began to sort through the wreckage to find the pieces I felt were worth saving while pushing other aside. It was going to take a while and I had no blueprint for what came next, but I knew that this was something I had to do. As I sorted through the pieces, I began to imagine how I hoped it would turn out.

I picked up a piece, examined it and then placed it in the pile to keep. I did the same with another, but placed it in another pile. Again and again and again until the mess made it’s way into almost as many piles as pieces. Some were definite keeps, some were maybes, some were ready to discard, most were somewhere in between. After an hour of false productivity, I found myself no closer to my destination then when I started. Until I was willing to make the tough choices, it would just be a game of musical chairs as pieces moved from one pile to another.

Frustrated, I pushed all the piles back together into one mess. My motivation was equal to the amount of progress I had made. The burning flame of inspiration withered away as the indecision grew. All the articles, tutorials, and photos made it look so easy. In theory it was simple, you’re just putting something back together like a puzzle held together by gold. I started to wonder if my pieces were far too broken to ever be put back together. I questioned whether what lay ahead was an impossible task.

If there’s a will, there’s a way I mouthed to myself. It was a quote that influenced so much of my upbringing. Lowering my head and grinding through challenges and tough times was a badge of honor I embodied. Giving up on this task felt like a weakness I couldn’t accept. My exhausted mind strained to run through scenario after scenario. Some thoughts were too ridiculous to work while others failed to formulate. A solution was a solution even if it wasn’t the best one.

I cupped my hands together around a collection of small pieces, and felt many of them slip between my fingers. I quickly reached again to collect the fallen pieces, but even more escaped my grasp. At that point, I understood it would be impossible to recreate my vase that had been broken. As the last remnants returned to the pile, I fell backwards and closed my eyes. A cooling tear made its way down my cheek to the edge of my ear. Reluctantly I let out a sigh of defeat.

As the breath left my lips, I noticed the tension running through my body. Shoulders scrunched to my ears. Knees locked out. Toes curled like talons trying to hold on for dear life. The sensation of tension created the illusion of effort. The tenser my body felt, the harder I felt I had worked. With a broken spirit, I lay paralyzed next to a broken vase desperately trying to formulate a path that didn’t end in failure.

Exhaustion began to spread throughout my body like a disease. The more I fought it, the more tired I grew. Before, fighting it always felt like the only option, but I was growing tired. As I desperately tried to fight off my own thoughts, I felt myself losing a battle I had been waging for far too long. Angrily I took another breath to try and clear my thoughts. With each breath of clarity, I reluctantly lowered my shoulders, bent my knees, and lastly I began to uncurl my toes one at a time. As each toe let go, I began to relinquish any hopes of accomplishing my current task. My arms lay heavy by my side as I did nothing to stop the tears starting down my face.

I pinched my eyes slightly to try and clear them. As I lay there, I thought back to the days I used to do yoga. Every session ended in Savasana (“corpse” pose) to bring the body to total relaxation. The lingering tension in my body slowly died off allowing my body to fully relax for the first time in a while. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

With an exhale, I whispered, “It’s okay.”

With the next exhale, I whispered, “I forgive you.”

I opened my eyes and sat up. It was going to be impossible recreate the broken vase no matter how hard I willed it. But that was okay. In the end, it’s going to become something different, something new, something beautiful.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Open Letter to my Artistic Self

“An Open Letter to my Artistic Self”

Hey you. Yeah, I’m talking to you. The guy that takes the thoughts in his head and translates them into visual realities. The one that appreciates the way two lines interact or how colors make you feel. The one that cares more about the aesthetic of the letters rather than what words they form.

You may feel like you don’t have any natural instincts, but that’s not true. Your gut tells you what appeals to you and what doesn’t. You’ve studied multiple ways to verbalize the feelings that others can’t describe. You understand why this goes there and why eyes travel from one hot spot to another. Leading lines and hierarchy gain additional definitions in your visual dictionary.

Your work may go unnoticed. Don’t fret, it probably means you’re doing a good job. You’re able to take the viewer on a journey they don’t realize they’re traveling. It’s Inception. All the decisions you’ve made are the guiding hand of the thoughtfully crafted path you have to offer.

But sometimes that can be tough. In a world where “no news is good news,” the voices of the critical few can sound like the only reality. You try to tell yourself that these haters don’t speak for the majority. A small part of you believes this. But it’s hard. Everyone hopes for the positive reviews. You find yourself basing your self-worth on the number of times someone double taps your IG post or retweets a culmination of your blood, sweat, and tears. But sometimes no one sees the finished product through no fault of your skill.

They’ll never see behind the curtain, but they don’t care. That backstage pass is for you. It’s a reminder of how far you’ve come: the countless hours, the experimentation, the failures, and the success.

You may say that you’re an imposter, but I know that you’re not.

[sleeplessintothenight]

No Man’s Land

No Man’s Land

Pulled between Two Worlds, Two cultures, Two mindsets In order to find Who I’m meant to be.

Stuck somewhere between Hold on just a little longer and Let go to fly away.

Exhausted, I find my fingers still clinging to the old, Fueled by fear of letting go.

I feel the candle burning at both ends, My body being split in two. I can’t even get my metaphors to agree.

Stuck in this self-imposed purgatory, Standing at the epicenter Of a storm of my own creation. They say the eye of the storm is the calmest, But it feels more like a prision.

Frozen in fear, Afraid to make the wrong choice, Afraid to make A Choice.

[sleeplessintothenight]

A.M. Text

A.M. Text

--

The glow from the phone screen cut through the blackness of the room. Squinting, I attempted to read what woke me at this hour while my eyes scrambled to adjust. As my vision came into focus, my mind moved in the other direction. I read the words clear as day, but their meaning eluded me.

You said I had become distant.

I struggled to sort through the early morning fog while trying to analyze the handful of words you had sent me. Angry, confused, hurt, frustrated, sad, I don’t know. Some combination of all that and more. By now I was sitting up and staring into the nothingness hoping to find the answers on the wall in front of me. A collection of books and a broken picture frame stared back refusing to give me the answers they didn’t have. I’m not sure what I was expecting.

You said I had become distant.

Following one foot after the other, I made my way out of bed. I left the phone at my nightstand for your words were already committed to memory. By now my eyes had adjusted enough to navigate darkness in my room, but the meaning of your message remained shrouded. As I waded through the darkness and he mess at my feet, I repeated your words over and over again like the mantra for the day.

I found myself staring into my own eyes wondering how I got here. I flipped the bathroom light on and wondered if this had all been my fault. Squinting, I fought to adjust to my new surroundings. As my eyes opened, I began to look for the answer to my question on the other side of the mirror. Even with the newfound clarity, I still found myself lost amongst the recollection of the past couple of months.

I stared in the mirror demanding answers, but I got nothing. Nothing. Maybe that was the answer to the question I had been asking all morning. A gradual push and pull that resulted in nothing. I thought back to it. Halfway through my walk down memory lane I stopped walking. No matter how far I went, the destination never got any closer. I grew tired chasing the carrot that always lay just beyond my grasp. At a crossroads, I decided to stand still for once. I took the stick off my back and laid the carrot down. I bid it adieu and attempted to venture guideless to a new horizon. As I took my first few steps, the only resistance came from within. I looked back and the carrot and the stick lay motionless on the ground. The distance between us had increased, but I didn’t question whether I had taken steps or it had begun rolling away.

I guess I had become distant while wandering alone through uncharted experiences. But in that space, I found something I could never have found with you.

Having finally understood the answer to my question, I turned away frm the mirror and made my way back to bed.

[sleeplessintothenight]

Island

Island

--

I don’t know if I’d say I had a fear of flying, but it definitely made me feel uneasy. When I think about it, it probably stems from the lack of control. Or at least the feeling of control. If that plane is going down, there’s nothing you can really do. At least with a car accident, I feel like you have a chance to swerve and maybe you can minimize the damage, but with flying, you’re trapped in that seat and can’t do anything about it.

I felt the salty air as the ocean breeze flicked my hair back and forth. I could feel the undying sun burning my skin and the top of my hair. I thought back to what the flight attendant had said, “In an emergency, air masks will deploy. Please be sure to secure your own mask first before assisting others.” I curled my fingers into a fist and slowly released the trains of sand. I felt the warmth of the coarse sand mixed with the debris that blended seamlessly together…

The guy next to me was deathly afraid of flying. He couldn’t sit still. I could feel his damp sleeves rub up against my arm every so often. I had my headphones in and my book on the tray table in front of me. With my tools of comfort in place, I prepared myself to be distracted from my own uneasiness of flying. I had long ago discovered my escape, I could only hope he would figure his out soon.

I tried my best to ignore the situation next to me, but I couldn’t. I slowly felt myself being pulled away from the safety of my fictional world and back to reality. The man next to me hadn’t improved, in fact, it seemed like he got worse after we took off. To me, the biggest pit in my stomach comes before take off. It comes from that feeling of having a choice to give up, to escape before you take off. Once you’re in the air, there’s nothing you can do. Don’t get me wrong, that stresses me out too, but at that point, all you can do is pray.

I closed my book and pulled out my headphones. I turned to him and tried to strike up a conversation. Simple icebreakers like asking details about his trip: where he was heading, what he planned to do, anything really to try and distract him from the demons in his own mind. He tensely responded, but the more and more he was able to verbalize, the more I noticed his wheels spinning in a more favorable direction. Pulling up details about his trip allowed him to focus on wanting to see his family and restaurants he couldn’t wait to revisit rather than everything that could go wrong. He began to slow down his words and his shirt started to dry up.

I smiled, happy with my decision to change up my routine.

It was a long flight and I was glad to have someone I could pass the time with. A playlist is only so long and I didn’t want to finish my book in one sitting.

Everything had been going smooth. It turned out my neighbor and I shared a lot of similar interests: from mainstream pop culture to obscure food combinations like pickles and chocolate. It was a blast. For a time, I forgot about all the stresses and rough times that had been plaguing me up to this point. This vacation was circled so many times on my calendar like a beacon of hope. It began as a reward at the end of the month, but had morphed into a fight for survival. With bump after bump after bump, I wondered how much farther I could fall. Mercury was in retrograde after all, if you believe in any of that stuff.

Our laughter was shortly interrupted by a blip of turbulence. He looked at me, the joy in his face slowly reverting to instinctual fear. I cut the tension with a fart joke in a attempt to halt the transformation, hoping his newfound happiness would reassume control. Thankfully the laughter returned.

The laughter continued until the next bump occurred. And then the next. Simple jokes could no longer diffuse the ticking time bomb buried deep within his mind. Each fit of turbulence came in like a wrecking ball, dismantling the walls we had built faster than I could set down new bricks. Next a bing and a flash followed by a symphony of clicks as we all fastened our seatbelts. By now the flight attendants had secured themselves as well.

I felt my arm getting damp. It wasn’t just from the guy next to me this time. We exchanged glances. I tried to put on a façade, but we both understood the fears behind our eyes. The occasional jitters had become a constant vibration resonating throughout the cabin.

“Please remember to secure your own mask first before assisting others.”

Time seemed to slow as I reached for the hanging salvation. It danced around, escaping my grasp like a perpetual carrot on a stick. Hope grazed my fingertips briefly, but quickly slipped away like it had in recent weeks. Each time, I felt the urge to continue fighting, to keep believing, but the body blows had been mounting and I began to question how much stamina I had left. All around me it looked like everyone else had been successful, but from behind could I really tell? The breaths grew shorter and quicker amidst my struggle. With one last lunge I hooked a finger and held onto that glimmer of hope.

I secured my mask as everything started to go black. My heavy head tilted to the left. My new friend still fumbling was the last thing I saw before waking up alone on that beach.