Salt water.

To be quite honest, I cry all the time. I cry because I'm happy. I'm happy and sometimes I feel bad about that. Sometimes I feel bad that I'm happy and I still spend time thinking about the past. The past before I left. California. Where I had a job, and friends, and a man. A job I love, friends that I love, and a man that I love. A man that I can connect with, that I still can't find anything wrong with, that I want to be with me, either there or here. Here, where things are rustic and charming, where it rains more than it's sunny, where everything is an experience because it's so different than it is there. There, where things are familiar, where things felt real, where reality felt better than a dream even at its most mundane.

And so I cry, my tears dissolving into the lake water, contributing to its salty composition, getting lost in the cacophony of crashing waves, settling to the bottom of the silty water where they are lost in the overwhelming power of Mother Earth.