the sea anemone in me

This is a dedication. A recognition, a plea, a melancholic love letter, this is all the things I can't seem to say. It's cryptic and coded and in my secret language that none seem to understand.

I'm sorry. For so many things. That things have come to be as I've let them. I don't know much about destiny, or fate, but I do know that making no choice, or taking no action is a choice and an action. It surrounds the causes and effects with negative space, a haze, and perhaps good things will naturally sprout, but that's not so common. But know that I hold myself accountable, in the quiet hours when all is still and suspended in dreams, I lay and wonder at every turning point when it was still not too late or too far gone or too anything. It's possible of course that it really was over before it began, and I have tried to cast off the residues that seem to sully my every new start, but I know not how to shed them. They are tethered to me as anchors, that perhaps once saved my life and held me to the ground when my thoughts soared too close to the sun. Now even with a running start and you pushing me as you do, my little baby bird wings flap until numb and when I come to I find myself still grounded.

Thank you. For so many things. I am probably terrible at showing appreciation. I'm too awkward to say heart whelming thank you's or make poetic declarations, no matter the depths of my gratitude and admiration. And it is deep. My debt to you is growing with every second and we both know I can never repay it.