Like maybe you still read this. I know you did at one time. That time you said you were afraid, afraid I would get 'caught up' by certain things. As though I were a stranger you didn't know. As though I were someone else's child, one who was malleable, pliable, weak. One who caught phases like they were social diseases, then dropped them much quicker than antibiotics ever could. Was I ever that child?

But I'm getting distracted.

You asked if I ever got homesick. The way you asked was almost accusatory. The way you asked sounded more like "Do you regret your actions yet?" Your voice was so harsh. I said yes, because I miss the ocean and it would have been too dramatic and pointless to say no.

But I'm still hurting from your idea of a good visit. So I will say now, No.

Shh, did you know I keep medicine in the kitchen now?

We'll figure this out one day.