The waters know what it means to be battered to and fro. It despairs at the blood spilled within its depths. With every hurricane, they reach out for comfort to be met with disappointment as humans run away in fear.

The only person who kindly responds to them is me.

But I am moving out of state in a few days to a place where oceans can’t go. My dad got promoted at his finance job, and that requires us to pack our bags to Oklahoma. While the waves crash against the shore, their long, foamy fingers place seashells against the sand for me to find. Offerings waiting to be discovered. The kindness of the sea forces me to procrastinate offering in return the hard, agonizing truth.

The morning of moving day, I sit at my window. The boxes I have hidden away had to be pulled out for the movers to collect. My heart sinks deeper into my chest with every seagull’s cry. It would be impossible for me to whisper my apologies without shedding tears, so I reach for a slip of paper.

The words come naturally from my mind, through the pen, and into the ink as I scribbled words of love, of regret. Expressing every single memory we’ve had on the small space was the easiest part. From our first official encounter to now we’ve played many games of hide and seek and shared secrets I only could trust with a force of nature. I roll up the note and fit it within the spirals of a tiny conch shell.

My feet sink deep into the cool sand with every step. When the water curls around my toes, I hear my mother calling.

“Come on, honey! Get back inside!”

Tears spill down my cheeks. “In a minute!”

I kneel down, and a sudden cold touch made me flinch as if I had been slapped.

The origin of this sensation retracted back. The ocean.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was just…unexpected.”

The small, timid wave inches closer, regarding the shell in my hand.

“It’s the last gift I will be able to give you for a while. I hope you like it.”

The tears kept pouring, but the ocean didn’t wipe them away, as if knowing its comfort wouldn’t be enough.

My mother calls to me again. “Kylie! Now!”

The wind picks up speed, as if pushing me toward the home that will soon no longer be mine. This is one of the few times nature goes against with what I want, and my teeth clench in anger. Am I unwelcome here now? The wave is pushing itself against me, urging me to leave despite my seething frustration.

“I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want you to be alone!”

The pushing became gentler, almost reassuring. It knew the consequence of letting me go. It knew it would be a while before someone else could understand the waters like I can. But it’s okay with that.

The thought warms my heart, but it doesn’t shadow over my sadness.

I return to my room and help my parents load what they can into our car. I make sure I delay the process as much as possible, debating if the letter and conch shell alone was enough of a farewell gift. It takes everything in me to not plunge myself back into those waters, back into what I’ve known for as long as I remember.

When we get into the car, my mom places her hand gently onto my knee. My dad puts the key into the ignition, and we’re on the road.

During the five hour drive, I cling onto my jar of seashells.