: to draw breath in sharply

When I was seven years old playing in the surf of the Pacific Ocean, I got barrel rolled by a big wave. The currents tossed me all around and upside down. Still underwater with my eyes closed, I began swimming as hard as I could to reach the surface. My breath was running out. Right at the moment I expected my head to burst out of the water so I could take a deep breath, my head hit the sand. My body gasped anyway.

At twenty-nine, that same wave has caught me again. Down seems up, wrong feels right, and the currents pull me, helplessly. I’m swimming hard again for the surface, and I hope the next breath is air. Because I’m gonna gasp either way.

What happens?

What happens when you find someone who you enjoy being with almost regardless of where you are or what you’re doing? What happens when you find a person who feels like home? What happens when I start to care again? What happens when no one else understands this? What happens if this isn’t just a phase?

What happens if it all goes away? What happens if it stays forever?

The ones who give up

Part of me thinks I’m gonna lose her, one way or the other. Then part of me knows that I won’t. That everything will happen how no one expected, and it will be more real and right than either of us ever thought it could be. For that possibility, I’m willing to lay my soul bare. But in time. Because the outcome I am suspicious of now could be too much for anyone to process if I actually said it out loud.

It almost seems like the ones who give up find what they were looking for all along, in the end.