i didn't recognize myself in the photo and then i realized i don't think i'm supposed to, that everything i was reaching for then was just a way to not be here, now, like building a sandcastle so big it blocks out the sun. but here is good, isn't it, even with the knowing that it can all crumble, even with the ache of missing who i thought i was supposed to be, this, right here, the ocean blurring blue into sky, cosmo's bark echoing off the cliffs, the sun on my arms so real i can almost taste it, this is the one, this is the only one, and maybe that's why it scared me so much then, because i knew even then, somewhere deep down, that if i ever stopped running i might actually have to feel it all. The wanting used to feel like a sickness, a gnawing that only someone else's life could cure. Now, the quiet of my own four walls, the familiar creak of the floorboards, that's the sound of being home, finally, after all that running.