I don't often remember birthdays or appointments or plans. But I do remember the anniversary of the day someone I loved passed away. Being left by a loved one always hurts the hardest.
I am a child of earth and sea, with an abyss for a soul, filled with ancient knowledge of pagan magic. The magic of the earth runs through my veins, as does that of the ocean.
It was a summer day in the middle of July when my grandmother died at home. I was there as she took her last breath. It was just after her birthday, too.
I'm on antidepressants and medication for anxiety. They're for mental health. But the ghosts of those I love visit me less often now I'm not so haunted by the past, not quite so crushed by despair.
I am the epicenter of my past, present, and future, where it all collides. I am both written and unwritten. I know what's happened, but the future is yet to come, looming before me.
Before we kiss the first time, I want you to know I already know how it ends.
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