Four, nearly five years ago, he was 4 years and 11 months my senior. We would stay up most of the night. Together. Then I would wake up and he would be gone. And after a few months it became a normal thing to wake up alone. Undisturbed and a little cold. Make the bed. Put away dishes. Gather my things. Go home. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until one day he was gone for 8 months. No goodbye. No farewell. Just a break up text and disappointment. I would wake up and he would be gone. But this time he would be thousands of miles away. And all I could think about was water. And where the heck he could possibly be. But not wanting to write, because I didn't want to bother him. But I drank and caved in. I was tired of drowning. It was hot there. Over 100 degrees. He sent pictures and wrote back quickly. He came back. He showed me things he bought from other countries. I smiled again. He showed me more pictures. He got a dog. Fast forward another year. I would wake up and he would be gone. It was a normal thing by now. We had a routine. Make the bed. Put away dishes. Play with the dog. Gather my things. Go home. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Drown. Tell him how I felt. Radio silence. 10ft down. Explain how long I felt that way. No explanation from him. 20ft. No apology. 30ft. Direct questioning on how he felt. Dodged and avoided. 40ft. Go to bed. Wake up. And he's gone again. 50ft. 60ft. And it's cold. I can't feel my toes anymore. And it's getting dark. Play with the dog. 70ft. Make the bed and put away dishes. 80ft. Gather my things. Go home. 90ft. Silence. 100ft. And I'm done. I can no longer breathe. And I can no longer swim. I am sinking. And the pressure of the water is crushing my lungs. For two years I choked on sea water. I lived and I died. I waited. But I didn't cry. At 100ft under the waves tears are pretty pointless. After two years of wanting this thing, this person, I no longer want it. Because it doesn't want me. But I'm still afraid when I wake up. And the bed is empty. And I still panic when someone walks out the door. Because I never know which time will be the last. Or which ocean they're about to cross. And my childlike awe and innocence were thrown overboard and forgotten. It created an obsession for that lifestyle. So I became it. I woke up early. I pushed myself farther than I thought possible. And after years of watching him put his on, I earned my own uniform. And I went back to him. But I felt nothing. I surfaced. I can swim again. I have no feelings. I don't even have ill will anymore. He's only a friend. And there will come a day, quite soon, actually, when he will go home. Halfway across the country. And he won't be back. And I won't see him again. Ever. And that's ok. Because people leave. And sometimes they don't come back. And you're cold and a little disturbed. But you make the bed. Gather your things. And leave. Now the one who has panic attacks, the light sleeper, the one who holds a pillow at night to take the place of a body, and the one who begs you not to go, becomes the one who can't be tied down. She leaves. She drifts. Floating on the waves alone in peace and absolute terror. But not love. Not hate. Because she lost all feeling about 100ft down.

The best part is, 5 years later you're begging for me to enter your life again. Once or twice a week, you're inviting me out with you and your friends. You're asking me what I've been up to, where have I been and why haven't I seen you lately. But I'm here. I have always been here. You were the one who left. Every morning. Your time has passed. I was young and dumb. Which is why you probably never cared much. Understandable. I grew up. And now you see my worth. But so do I. And I will never allow myself to be disrespected like that again. Lesson learned. Now it's your turn to wake up alone. Make your bed. Put away your dishes. Gather your things and go home.