I promise it gets better
We were supposed to be buying groceries the day you missed the exit, turning south instead of north on the freeway. It almost seemed like an accident but then we laughed, reasoned the fridge could stay empty for one more day.
We drove until we saw fields of golden yarrows, to the place where the sky meets the sea. Our feet found the staircase leading to the sand and we buried our toes in the softness, letting the heat pierce each layer of skin until it became forgettable, until the cold foam rushed in and returned us to ourselves.
It felt like meeting you all over again—us walking together to find our future, making promises to the wind, then to each other about where we’d go and who we’d be. Before the city plucked us like wildflowers and left us to rot in the gutter. At that moment on the beach, I could have been on a trail in the mountains or holding your gaze at midnight. Dreaming with you has always felt like watching snow paint the forest. Everything goes still and anything feels possible.
Lately, I’ve noticed my hope expanding. But the bigger it becomes, the more I see yours dim. This was a role reversal I never saw coming and when you told me about your new sadness, it was like looking in a mirror, a reflection faded yet familiar. I felt like I saw you for the first time, or at least the first time like this. Like me. I saw me in you. I was standing on the outside, witnessing what was before and could be again. I know better now: how fragile each one of us is.
You wanted to order fish tacos and so we ate on a patio where the road disappeared into the water. Then we found a corner shop for iced coffee. Do you remember? A man played his keyboard and you looked at the sky with a longing I didn’t recognize. The afternoon wasn’t remarkable, but it printed on my memory. Perhaps because of how layered it all felt—the soft spring air, the traffic leaving the city, your new sadness tangled with my new hope, our spoken dreams within reach yet tainted by a truth we both refuse to accept.
Did I pass this sadness to you? I thought about it on the drive home. That, and how my spirit felt light enough to float away. It’s a trade I would have never wished for. I would go back to feeling sad if it meant I could sit with you in that darkness, our bodies clinging together in the endless unknowns.
I also thought about the city. Smog and billboards swallowed the hills behind us, and my foot never left the gas pedal. I’ll be forever tracing our path to figure out how we got here, though I know some past version of me would say I chose this for us. You see, I needed the city to kill me so I could be born again. I would never have found this beach otherwise, would have never seen the light return to your eyes as we walked the shore, would have never sifted my fingers through the wet sand just to find one perfect shell.
It has to mean something, right? Tell me it does. Tell me the dreams aren’t empty, and I’ll tell you the sadness gets better. Because it does. I promise you, it does.
Read: I finally got a copy of Tommy Orange’s Wandering Stars. I’m only about fifty pages in, but I'm already haunted by this story. Also, this piece from
is so, so good.Listen: People have a lot of strong opinions about Taylor Swift’s Tortured Poets album (I’m not one of them), but this song uncovers something deep inside of me. I’m going to see Mt Joy in August, so their albums have been on repeat. Finally, new music from Billie Eilish (I mean, it’s Billie Eilish).
Leaving you with this post a friend sent me about ominous positivity. Is it overwhelming? Fun? The pep talk we all need? (All of the above, I think.)
i love the sincerity in your writing! It takes bravery ❤
Absolutely beautiful. Thank you for this 🤍