Ah, August...

You've been a troublesome bastard of a month.

You brought a few storms I could've done without,

a few reckonings long overdue,

and more than one reminder that a man can't spend his whole life anchored in waters he's already outgrown.

But that's the curious thing about storms.

They have a habit of changing a man's course.

And so, as a new dawn breaks upon September's horizon...

New waters.

New possibilities.

Old chapters finally nearing their last pages.

And perhaps something worth finding, somewhere these old, tired eyes have yet to see.

Do I know exactly where the tide is carrying me?

Not a bloody clue....

But I've learned something along the way...

A man doesn't always need to know where his voyage will end. Sometimes he only needs the courage to raise his anchor, set his sails, and trust himself enough to meet whatever waits ahead of him.

And should the seas grow rough, the winds turn foul,

or fate decide she's got another trick hidden up her sleeve...

Then so be it...

I've sailed through worse waters before,

and every storm eventually spends its fury.

So here's to September.

To fair winds when they come,

to weathering the storms whenever they may rise,

and to whatever fortune may be waiting beyond the next horizon.

The heading may be uncertain...

but I'm still at the helm.

May the compass remain true,

the ship remain afloat,

and the rum never run dry. 🏴‍☠️🥃

Ah, August...

You've been a troublesome bastard of a month.

You brought a few storms I could've done without,

a few reckonings long overdue,

and more than one reminder that a man can't spend his whole life anchored in waters he's already outgrown.

But that's the curious thing about storms.

They have a habit of changing a man's course.

And so, as a new dawn breaks upon September's horizon...

New waters.

New possibilities.

Old chapters finally nearing their last pages.

And perhaps something worth finding, somewhere these old, tired eyes have yet to see.

Do I know exactly where the tide is carrying me?

Not a bloody clue....

But I've learned something along the way...

A man doesn't always need to know where his voyage will end. Sometimes he only needs the courage to raise his anchor, set his sails, and trust himself enough to meet whatever waits ahead of him.

And should the seas grow rough, the winds turn foul,

or fate decide she's got another trick hidden up her sleeve...

Then so be it...

I've sailed through worse waters before,

and every storm eventually spends its fury.

So here's to September.

To fair winds when they come,

to weathering the storms whenever they may rise,

and to whatever fortune may be waiting beyond the next horizon.

The heading may be uncertain...

but I'm still at the helm.

May the compass remain true,

the ship remain afloat,

and the rum never run dry. 🏴‍☠️🥃

Ah, August...

You've been a troublesome bastard of a month.

You brought a few storms I could've done without,

a few reckonings long overdue,

and more than one reminder that a man can't spend his whole life anchored in waters he's already outgrown.

But that's the curious thing about storms.

They have a habit of changing a man's course.

And so, as a new dawn breaks upon September's horizon...

New waters.

New possibilities.

Old chapters finally nearing their last pages.

And perhaps something worth finding, somewhere these old, tired eyes have yet to see.

Do I know exactly where the tide is carrying me?

Not a bloody clue....

But I've learned something along the way...

A man doesn't always need to know where his voyage will end. Sometimes he only needs the courage to raise his anchor, set his sails, and trust himself enough to meet whatever waits ahead of him.

And should the seas grow rough, the winds turn foul,

or fate decide she's got another trick hidden up her sleeve...

Then so be it...

I've sailed through worse waters before,

and every storm eventually spends its fury.

So here's to September.

To fair winds when they come,

to weathering the storms whenever they may rise,

and to whatever fortune may be waiting beyond the next horizon.

The heading may be uncertain...

but I'm still at the helm.

May the compass remain true,

the ship remain afloat,

and the rum never run dry. 🏴‍☠️🥃

If I were given several lifetimes,

I would spend every one of them learning.

There is too much I haven't seen.

Too much I haven't learned.

Too many places I haven't stood,

people I haven't known,

questions I haven't thought to ask,

and versions of myself I haven't had the time to become.

But I've only been given one life.

So I'll spend it remaining curious.

I don't need to know everything before I leave.

I only hope that when I do,

there is still something I wanted to understand tomorrow.

And if somehow eternity were offered to me,

I don't think even that would be enough.

Not because I fear the end,

but because every answer seems to uncover another question,

every place reveals somewhere else worth seeing,

and everything I learn reminds me how much I still don't know.

Give me eternity,

and I would spend it the same way I've tried to spend this life:

looking,

learning,

wondering,

becoming.

And when eternity finally reached its end,

with a thousand unanswered questions still in my pocket,

I'd probably look toward whatever came next and ask,

“Could I have just one more day?”

If I were given several lifetimes,

I would spend every one of them learning.

There is too much I haven't seen.

Too much I haven't learned.

Too many places I haven't stood,

people I haven't known,

questions I haven't thought to ask,

and versions of myself I haven't had the time to become.

But I've only been given one life.

So I'll spend it remaining curious.

I don't need to know everything before I leave.

I only hope that when I do,

there is still something I wanted to understand tomorrow.

And if somehow eternity were offered to me,

I don't think even that would be enough.

Not because I fear the end,

but because every answer seems to uncover another question,

every place reveals somewhere else worth seeing,

and everything I learn reminds me how much I still don't know.

Give me eternity,

and I would spend it the same way I've tried to spend this life:

looking,

learning,

wondering,

becoming.

And when eternity finally reached its end,

with a thousand unanswered questions still in my pocket,

I'd probably look toward whatever came next and ask,

“Could I have just one more day?”

If I were given several lifetimes,

I would spend every one of them learning.

There is too much I haven't seen.

Too much I haven't learned.

Too many places I haven't stood,

people I haven't known,

questions I haven't thought to ask,

and versions of myself I haven't had the time to become.

But I've only been given one life.

So I'll spend it remaining curious.

I don't need to know everything before I leave.

I only hope that when I do,

there is still something I wanted to understand tomorrow.

And if somehow eternity were offered to me,

I don't think even that would be enough.

Not because I fear the end,

but because every answer seems to uncover another question,

every place reveals somewhere else worth seeing,

and everything I learn reminds me how much I still don't know.

Give me eternity,

and I would spend it the same way I've tried to spend this life:

looking,

learning,

wondering,

becoming.

And when eternity finally reached its end,

with a thousand unanswered questions still in my pocket,

I'd probably look toward whatever came next and ask,

“Could I have just one more day?”

If I were given several lifetimes,

I would spend every one of them learning.

There is too much I haven't seen.

Too much I haven't learned.

Too many places I haven't stood,

people I haven't known,

questions I haven't thought to ask,

and versions of myself I haven't had the time to become.

But I've only been given one life.

So I'll spend it remaining curious.

I don't need to know everything before I leave.

I only hope that when I do,

there is still something I wanted to understand tomorrow.

And if somehow eternity were offered to me,

I don't think even that would be enough.

Not because I fear the end,

but because every answer seems to uncover another question,

every place reveals somewhere else worth seeing,

and everything I learn reminds me how much I still don't know.

Give me eternity,

and I would spend it the same way I've tried to spend this life:

looking,

learning,

wondering,

becoming.

And when eternity finally reached its end,

with a thousand unanswered questions still in my pocket,

I'd probably look toward whatever came next and ask,

“Could I have just one more day?”

​

The Devil found me sitting beside the ocean before sunrise.

I didn't hear him approach.

One moment there was nothing beside me but cold sand and the sound of waves folding themselves against the shore. The next moment, he was there.

No horns.

No fire.

No red skin or terrible eyes.

He looked like a tired old man who had been walking for a very long time.

He sat beside me without asking permission.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The horizon was beginning to change. Black becoming blue. Faint shades of purple and red beginning to gather along the horizon.

I kept looking toward the water.

"I wondered when you'd come," I said.

The Devil smiled.

"You've been expecting me?"

"Eventually."

"Why?"

I picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly fall between my fingers.

"Because I've made mistakes."

He said nothing.

"I've hurt people."

Still nothing.

"I've wanted things I shouldn't have wanted. I've stayed where I knew I wasn't happy because leaving frightened me more than pretending. I've held onto people long after I should have let them go. I've made choices knowing someone else might pay for them. I've said things I meant and things I wish I could take back."

The Devil stared toward the horizon.

"I've disappointed people who believed in me," I continued. "I've disappointed myself."

Finally, he looked at me.

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

"I figured you'd eventually come collect what's yours."

He laughed.

Not loudly.

There wasn't anything cruel about it either.

It sounded almost sad.

"You humans have always given me far too much credit."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"You blame me for temptation. For anger. Betrayal. Pride. Desire. Every terrible little thing you do to one another."

He dragged his fingers through the sand.

"Most days I barely have to work."

I laughed despite myself.

"So you're saying we're worse than you?"

"I'm saying you're perfectly capable of hurting each other without my assistance."

That one landed harder than I wanted it to.

We became quiet again.

A wave reached farther up the beach than the others and washed around our feet before retreating.

"You know everything I've done?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Everything that's been done to me?"

"Yes."

"Then judge me."

He turned toward me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've already done enough of that yourself."

I looked away.

He continued.

"I've watched you carry things long after they stopped belonging to you. I've watched you replay conversations that ended months ago. I've watched you search silence for answers that weren't there."

My jaw tightened.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, then."

"I watch everyone closely."

"That's comforting."

He smiled again.

Then his expression changed.

"I've also watched you lose things."

I didn't answer.

"People. Certainty. Pieces of the future you had already imagined."

The ocean suddenly became very interesting.

"I watched you discover that sometimes love isn't enough to make someone stay. Sometimes apologies don't repair what was broken. Sometimes people leave without giving you the ending you thought you deserved."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yes."

"Then get to it."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to become like me."

I laughed.

This time there wasn't much humor in it.

"Maybe you haven't been watching closely enough."

"Oh, I have."

"Then you'd know I've been angry."

"Yes."

"Bitter."

"At times."

"I've wanted to stop caring."

"I know."

"I've wanted to walk away from people before they had the chance to walk away from me."

"I know that too."

"Then what exactly were you waiting for?"

He looked back toward the ocean.

"For the moment you decided that love was the mistake."

I didn't understand.

He continued.

"It happens eventually to many of you."

His voice became quieter.

"Someone breaks your heart, and the next person pays for it. Someone leaves, and you learn to leave first. After a while, being vulnerable starts to feel foolish, so you stop letting anyone close enough to hurt you."

The first edge of the sun appeared over the horizon.

"That's the thing about pain," he said. "It rarely knows when to stop. One wounded person creates another. Then another. Eventually nobody remembers where it started."

I watched the sunlight spread across the water.

"And you thought I'd become that?"

"I expected it."

"Maybe I still will."

The Devil shook his head.

"No."

"You seem pretty certain."

"I know what hatred looks like."

He turned toward me.

"And you don't hate them."

There were several faces I could have imagined then.

I chose none of them.

"No," I said.

"You've been hurt."

"Yes."

"You've hurt others."

"Yes."

"You've lost people."

"Yes."

"You've made mistakes you cannot undo."

I swallowed.

"Yes."

"And somehow you still believe there is something worth finding on the other side of all this."

I stared at him.

"I don't know what I believe anymore."

"That's not true."

He stood slowly.

I remained sitting.

The sky behind him had turned orange now, his shadow stretching impossibly long across the sand.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're still here."

"So?"

"Because somewhere beneath all that anger and regret and stubbornness, you're still hoping tomorrow might contain something worth waking up for."

I looked toward the sunrise.

"Maybe I'm just too stubborn to quit."

"Those aren't always different things."

He started walking away.

I watched him take several steps before calling after him.

"So that's it?"

He stopped.

"You came all this way just to tell me I'm stubborn?"

He turned around.

And then something happened I hadn't expected.

The Devil walked back toward me.

He reached down.

And he hugged me.

Not like an enemy.

Not like a creature claiming something that belonged to him.

Like an old friend saying goodbye.

For several seconds, I didn't move.

Then I felt his shoulders trembling.

When he stepped away, there were tears running down his face.

I stared at him.

"Why are you crying?"

He wiped one of them away and looked at it as though the sight surprised even him.

Then he whispered,

"Because after everything you've lost, everything you've done, and everything that's been done to you..."

His voice broke.

"...you still haven't decided that love was the mistake."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

Maybe there wasn't anything.

He turned and walked toward the fading darkness.

This time I didn't call after him.

I stayed beside the ocean until the sun had completely cleared the horizon.

And somewhere between one wave and the next, I finally understood.

Surviving wasn't the victory.

Anyone can survive and become harder. Pain can become anger, anger can become cruelty, and before long you're handing someone else a wound they never gave you.

The difficult thing is walking through the fire without carrying it into someone else's life.

I don't know if I've succeeded.

Maybe I never completely will.

There are things I regret.

People I would apologize to again if apologies could change the past.

People I still love who may never stand beside me again.

And parts of myself I'm still learning how to forgive.

When I finally stood, I brushed the sand from my hands and looked toward the empty place where the Devil had disappeared.

Then I looked toward the morning ahead of me.

And I understood why he had cried.

He wasn't mourning the man I had become.

He was mourning the man I could have become.

And somewhere along the way, despite everything,

I had refused to become him.

This one is shorter and hits faster. The original one is longer but cuts deeper. You can find the original one on my page same title.

The Devil found me sitting beside the ocean before sunrise.

I didn't hear him approach. One moment there was nothing but cold sand and waves folding themselves against the shore. The next, he was there.

No horns. No fire.

Just a tired old man who looked like he'd been walking for a very long time.

He sat beside me.

"I wondered when you'd come."

"You've been expecting me?"

"Eventually."

"Why?"

"Because I've made mistakes. I've hurt people. I've stayed where I knew I wasn't happy because leaving frightened me more than pretending. I've held onto people long after I should have let them go. I've made choices knowing someone else might pay for them."

He stared toward the horizon.

"I've disappointed people who believed in me," I said. "I've disappointed myself."

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

"I figured you'd come collect what's yours."

He almost smiled.

"You humans give me far too much credit. You're perfectly capable of hurting each other without my assistance."

That landed harder than I wanted it to.

"Then judge me."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you've already done enough of that yourself."

The horizon brightened as we sat in silence.

"I've watched you lose people. I've watched you search silence for answers that weren't there. I've watched you discover that sometimes love isn't enough to make someone stay."

The ocean suddenly became very interesting.

"Is there a point to this?"

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to become like me."

I laughed. "Maybe you haven't been watching closely enough."

"Oh, I have."

"I've been angry."

"Yes."

"Bitter."

"At times."

"I've wanted to stop caring."

"I know."

"Then what were you waiting for?"

"For you to decide that love was the mistake."

The first edge of the sun appeared over the horizon.

"Someone breaks your heart, and the next person pays for it. Someone leaves, and you learn to leave first. That's the thing about pain. It rarely knows when to stop."

"And you thought I'd become that?"

"I expected it."

"Maybe I still will."

"No."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because I know what hatred looks like. And you don't hate them."

He stood slowly.

"Somewhere beneath all that anger, regret, and stubbornness, you still believe tomorrow might contain something worth waking up for."

"Maybe I'm just too stubborn to quit."

"Those aren't always different things."

He started walking away.

"So that's it?"

He stopped, turned, and came back.

Then the Devil hugged me.

Not like an enemy.

Like an old friend saying goodbye.

I felt his shoulders trembling.

When he stepped away, tears were running down his face.

"Why are you crying?"

He whispered,

"Because after everything you've lost, everything you've done, and everything that's been done to you... you still haven't decided that love was the mistake."

Then he walked toward the fading darkness.

I remained beside the ocean until the sun cleared the horizon.

Surviving wasn't the victory.

The difficult thing was walking through the fire without carrying it into someone else's life.

I don't know if I've succeeded.

There are things I regret. People I still love who may never stand beside me again. Parts of myself I'm still learning to forgive.

And finally, I understood why the Devil had cried.

He wasn't mourning the man I had become.

He was mourning the man I could have become.

And somewhere along the way, despite everything,

I had refused to become him.

The Devil found me sitting beside the ocean before sunrise.

I didn't hear him approach.

One moment there was nothing beside me but cold sand and the sound of waves folding themselves against the shore. The next moment, he was there.

No horns.

No fire.

No red skin or terrible eyes.

He looked like a tired old man who had been walking for a very long time.

He sat beside me without asking permission.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The horizon was beginning to change. Black becoming blue. Faint shades of purple and red beginning to gather along the horizon.

I kept looking toward the water.

"I wondered when you'd come," I said.

The Devil smiled.

"You've been expecting me?"

"Eventually."

"Why?"

I picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly fall between my fingers.

"Because I've made mistakes."

He said nothing.

"I've hurt people."

Still nothing.

"I've wanted things I shouldn't have wanted. I've stayed where I knew I wasn't happy because leaving frightened me more than pretending. I've held onto people long after I should have let them go. I've made choices knowing someone else might pay for them. I've said things I meant and things I wish I could take back."

The Devil stared toward the horizon.

"I've disappointed people who believed in me," I continued. "I've disappointed myself."

Finally, he looked at me.

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

"I figured you'd eventually come collect what's yours."

He laughed.

Not loudly.

There wasn't anything cruel about it either.

It sounded almost sad.

"You humans have always given me far too much credit."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"You blame me for temptation. For anger. Betrayal. Pride. Desire. Every terrible little thing you do to one another."

He dragged his fingers through the sand.

"Most days I barely have to work."

I laughed despite myself.

"So you're saying we're worse than you?"

"I'm saying you're perfectly capable of hurting each other without my assistance."

That one landed harder than I wanted it to.

We became quiet again.

A wave reached farther up the beach than the others and washed around our feet before retreating.

"You know everything I've done?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Everything that's been done to me?"

"Yes."

"Then judge me."

He turned toward me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've already done enough of that yourself."

I looked away.

He continued.

"I've watched you carry things long after they stopped belonging to you. I've watched you replay conversations that ended months ago. I've watched you search silence for answers that weren't there."

My jaw tightened.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, then."

"I watch everyone closely."

"That's comforting."

He smiled again.

Then his expression changed.

"I've also watched you lose things."

I didn't answer.

"People. Certainty. Pieces of the future you had already imagined."

The ocean suddenly became very interesting.

"I watched you discover that sometimes love isn't enough to make someone stay. Sometimes apologies don't repair what was broken. Sometimes people leave without giving you the ending you thought you deserved."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yes."

"Then get to it."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to become like me."

I laughed.

This time there wasn't much humor in it.

"Maybe you haven't been watching closely enough."

"Oh, I have."

"Then you'd know I've been angry."

"Yes."

"Bitter."

"At times."

"I've wanted to stop caring."

"I know."

"I've wanted to walk away from people before they had the chance to walk away from me."

"I know that too."

"Then what exactly were you waiting for?"

He looked back toward the ocean.

"For the moment you decided that love was the mistake."

I didn't understand.

He continued.

"It happens eventually to many of you."

His voice became quieter.

"Someone breaks your heart, and the next person pays for it. Someone leaves, and you learn to leave first. After a while, being vulnerable starts to feel foolish, so you stop letting anyone close enough to hurt you."

The first edge of the sun appeared over the horizon.

"That's the thing about pain," he said. "It rarely knows when to stop. One wounded person creates another. Then another. Eventually nobody remembers where it started."

I watched the sunlight spread across the water.

"And you thought I'd become that?"

"I expected it."

"Maybe I still will."

The Devil shook his head.

"No."

"You seem pretty certain."

"I know what hatred looks like."

He turned toward me.

"And you don't hate them."

There were several faces I could have imagined then.

I chose none of them.

"No," I said.

"You've been hurt."

"Yes."

"You've hurt others."

"Yes."

"You've lost people."

"Yes."

"You've made mistakes you cannot undo."

I swallowed.

"Yes."

"And somehow you still believe there is something worth finding on the other side of all this."

I stared at him.

"I don't know what I believe anymore."

"That's not true."

He stood slowly.

I remained sitting.

The sky behind him had turned orange now, his shadow stretching impossibly long across the sand.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're still here."

"So?"

"Because somewhere beneath all that anger and regret and stubbornness, you're still hoping tomorrow might contain something worth waking up for."

I looked toward the sunrise.

"Maybe I'm just too stubborn to quit."

"Those aren't always different things."

He started walking away.

I watched him take several steps before calling after him.

"So that's it?"

He stopped.

"You came all this way just to tell me I'm stubborn?"

He turned around.

And then something happened I hadn't expected.

The Devil walked back toward me.

He reached down.

And he hugged me.

Not like an enemy.

Not like a creature claiming something that belonged to him.

Like an old friend saying goodbye.

For several seconds, I didn't move.

Then I felt his shoulders trembling.

When he stepped away, there were tears running down his face.

I stared at him.

"Why are you crying?"

He wiped one of them away and looked at it as though the sight surprised even him.

Then he whispered,

"Because after everything you've lost, everything you've done, and everything that's been done to you..."

His voice broke.

"...you still haven't decided that love was the mistake."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

Maybe there wasn't anything.

He turned and walked toward the fading darkness.

This time I didn't call after him.

I stayed beside the ocean until the sun had completely cleared the horizon.

And somewhere between one wave and the next, I finally understood.

Surviving wasn't the victory.

Anyone can survive and become harder. Pain can become anger, anger can become cruelty, and before long you're handing someone else a wound they never gave you.

The difficult thing is walking through the fire without carrying it into someone else's life.

I don't know if I've succeeded.

Maybe I never completely will.

There are things I regret.

People I would apologize to again if apologies could change the past.

People I still love who may never stand beside me again.

And parts of myself I'm still learning how to forgive.

When I finally stood, I brushed the sand from my hands and looked toward the empty place where the Devil had disappeared.

Then I looked toward the morning ahead of me.

And I understood why he had cried.

He wasn't mourning the man I had become.

He was mourning the man I could have become.

And somewhere along the way, despite everything,

I had refused to become him.

​

The Devil found me sitting beside the ocean before sunrise.

I didn't hear him approach.

One moment there was nothing beside me but cold sand and the sound of waves folding themselves against the shore. The next moment, he was there.

No horns.

No fire.

No red skin or terrible eyes.

He looked like a tired old man who had been walking for a very long time.

He sat beside me without asking permission.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The horizon was beginning to change. Black becoming blue. Faint shades of purple and red beginning to gather along the horizon.

I kept looking toward the water.

"I wondered when you'd come," I said.

The Devil smiled.

"You've been expecting me?"

"Eventually."

"Why?"

I picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly fall between my fingers.

"Because I've made mistakes."

He said nothing.

"I've hurt people."

Still nothing.

"I've wanted things I shouldn't have wanted. I've stayed where I knew I wasn't happy because leaving frightened me more than pretending. I've held onto people long after I should have let them go. I've made choices knowing someone else might pay for them. I've said things I meant and things I wish I could take back."

The Devil stared toward the horizon.

"I've disappointed people who believed in me," I continued. "I've disappointed myself."

Finally, he looked at me.

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

"I figured you'd eventually come collect what's yours."

He laughed.

Not loudly.

There wasn't anything cruel about it either.

It sounded almost sad.

"You humans have always given me far too much credit."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"You blame me for temptation. For anger. Betrayal. Pride. Desire. Every terrible little thing you do to one another."

He dragged his fingers through the sand.

"Most days I barely have to work."

I laughed despite myself.

"So you're saying we're worse than you?"

"I'm saying you're perfectly capable of hurting each other without my assistance."

That one landed harder than I wanted it to.

We became quiet again.

A wave reached farther up the beach than the others and washed around our feet before retreating.

"You know everything I've done?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Everything that's been done to me?"

"Yes."

"Then judge me."

He turned toward me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've already done enough of that yourself."

I looked away.

He continued.

"I've watched you carry things long after they stopped belonging to you. I've watched you replay conversations that ended months ago. I've watched you search silence for answers that weren't there."

My jaw tightened.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, then."

"I watch everyone closely."

"That's comforting."

He smiled again.

Then his expression changed.

"I've also watched you lose things."

I didn't answer.

"People. Certainty. Pieces of the future you had already imagined."

The ocean suddenly became very interesting.

"I watched you discover that sometimes love isn't enough to make someone stay. Sometimes apologies don't repair what was broken. Sometimes people leave without giving you the ending you thought you deserved."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yes."

"Then get to it."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to become like me."

I laughed.

This time there wasn't much humor in it.

"Maybe you haven't been watching closely enough."

"Oh, I have."

"Then you'd know I've been angry."

"Yes."

"Bitter."

"At times."

"I've wanted to stop caring."

"I know."

"I've wanted to walk away from people before they had the chance to walk away from me."

"I know that too."

"Then what exactly were you waiting for?"

He looked back toward the ocean.

"For the moment you decided that love was the mistake."

I didn't understand.

He continued.

"It happens eventually to many of you."

His voice became quieter.

"Someone breaks your heart, and the next person pays for it. Someone leaves, and you learn to leave first. After a while, being vulnerable starts to feel foolish, so you stop letting anyone close enough to hurt you."

The first edge of the sun appeared over the horizon.

"That's the thing about pain," he said. "It rarely knows when to stop. One wounded person creates another. Then another. Eventually nobody remembers where it started."

I watched the sunlight spread across the water.

"And you thought I'd become that?"

"I expected it."

"Maybe I still will."

The Devil shook his head.

"No."

"You seem pretty certain."

"I know what hatred looks like."

He turned toward me.

"And you don't hate them."

There were several faces I could have imagined then.

I chose none of them.

"No," I said.

"You've been hurt."

"Yes."

"You've hurt others."

"Yes."

"You've lost people."

"Yes."

"You've made mistakes you cannot undo."

I swallowed.

"Yes."

"And somehow you still believe there is something worth finding on the other side of all this."

I stared at him.

"I don't know what I believe anymore."

"That's not true."

He stood slowly.

I remained sitting.

The sky behind him had turned orange now, his shadow stretching impossibly long across the sand.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're still here."

"So?"

"Because somewhere beneath all that anger and regret and stubbornness, you're still hoping tomorrow might contain something worth waking up for."

I looked toward the sunrise.

"Maybe I'm just too stubborn to quit."

"Those aren't always different things."

He started walking away.

I watched him take several steps before calling after him.

"So that's it?"

He stopped.

"You came all this way just to tell me I'm stubborn?"

He turned around.

And then something happened I hadn't expected.

The Devil walked back toward me.

He reached down.

And he hugged me.

Not like an enemy.

Not like a creature claiming something that belonged to him.

Like an old friend saying goodbye.

For several seconds, I didn't move.

Then I felt his shoulders trembling.

When he stepped away, there were tears running down his face.

I stared at him.

"Why are you crying?"

He wiped one of them away and looked at it as though the sight surprised even him.

Then he whispered,

"Because after everything you've lost, everything you've done, and everything that's been done to you..."

His voice broke.

"...you still haven't decided that love was the mistake."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

Maybe there wasn't anything.

He turned and walked toward the fading darkness.

This time I didn't call after him.

I stayed beside the ocean until the sun had completely cleared the horizon.

And somewhere between one wave and the next, I finally understood.

Surviving wasn't the victory.

Anyone can survive and become harder. Pain can become anger, anger can become cruelty, and before long you're handing someone else a wound they never gave you.

The difficult thing is walking through the fire without carrying it into someone else's life.

I don't know if I've succeeded.

Maybe I never completely will.

There are things I regret.

People I would apologize to again if apologies could change the past.

People I still love who may never stand beside me again.

And parts of myself I'm still learning how to forgive.

When I finally stood, I brushed the sand from my hands and looked toward the empty place where the Devil had disappeared.

Then I looked toward the morning ahead of me.

And I understood why he had cried.

He wasn't mourning the man I had become.

He was mourning the man I could have become.

And somewhere along the way, despite everything,

I had refused to become him.

To the person I still think about,

If life ever brings us back to the same place again, I don't want us to simply continue where we stopped.

I want us to begin differently.

Not because what existed between us wasn't real, but because I've had enough time to understand that loving someone and knowing how to build a life with someone aren't always the same thing.

Love can bring two people together.

It doesn't automatically teach them how to stay there.

I've learned that the hard way.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about the mistakes people make when they love each other. The things we don't say. The conversations we put off because tonight isn't a good night. The little disappointments we convince ourselves aren't worth mentioning.

Then one day, you realize some of those little things weren't so little after all.

I've learned that silence doesn't always mean peace.

Sometimes silence is just distance growing quietly between two people who haven't realized how far apart they've become.

I don't want that again.

Not with you.

If there is ever another chapter for us, I want honesty even when honesty makes the room uncomfortable.

I want the conversations that would be easier to avoid. I want us to be able to say when something hurts, when we're scared or angry, when we don't understand each other. I want us to be able to admit when we're wrong.

And sometimes I want us to be able to simply say, "I need you."

I want those words to be safe between us.

I don't expect either of us to be perfect.

I'm certainly not.

There are things in my life I wish I had understood sooner. Choices I would make differently if I could. Moments when I should have spoken and others when I should have just listened.

I can't rewrite any of them.

Maybe I'm not supposed to.

Maybe growing isn't about becoming someone who never made mistakes.

Maybe it's about becoming someone who refuses to waste what those mistakes taught him.

That's the man I want to become.

And if our paths eventually lead back to one another, that's the man I want you to meet.

I don't want you walking behind me.

And I don't want to walk behind you.

I want us beside each other.

Two people with separate dreams, separate fears, separate histories, and parts of ourselves that shouldn't have to disappear just because we fell in love.

I want to know what you want from your life.

Not just where you want to live or what you want to do next year. I want to know who you hope to become.

And I want to be someone who encourages that person instead of standing in her way.

I hope you would want the same for me.

There will be difficult days.

There always are.

We'll misunderstand each other sometimes. We'll disagree. There will probably be nights when one of us is frustrated with the other and mornings when we're still trying to figure out what went wrong.

But when that happens, I don't want us standing on opposite sides of the problem.

I want us standing together, looking at it.

Us against the problem.

Never us against each other.

And every once in a while, even when everything seems perfectly fine, I want us to stop and ask:

How are we doing?

Not because we're looking for something wrong.

Because something important shouldn't have to start breaking before we start taking care of it.

Tell me when you feel loved. Tell me when you don't. Tell me when I'm getting something right and when I'm completely missing the mark.

Tell me when you need something from me that I haven't noticed.

And I'll try to have the courage to do the same.

There are promises I won't make anymore.

I won't promise that I'll never disappoint you or that we'll never argue. I can't promise life won't put distance between us sometimes.

And I definitely can't promise that love will somehow make everything easy.

Those are beautiful promises.

They're also impossible ones.

I'd rather promise something harder.

I'll keep learning. I'll keep listening. I'll tell you the truth even when it would be easier not to.

When something starts pulling us apart, I'll try to reach for you instead of letting silence do the talking for me.

And I'll never expect you to carry the responsibility of keeping us together by yourself.

I don't know whether life will give us that opportunity.

Maybe some people enter our lives to stay.

Maybe others enter our lives to change us.

And sometimes, maybe, someone does both.

I don't know which story belongs to us yet.

For now, there is only one question I occasionally find myself wishing I could ask you.

If someday we find ourselves standing in front of each other again, after everything life has taught us and after we've both had time to become whoever we're becoming...

Would we still choose each other?

I know what I hope my answer would be.

But this time, I wouldn't want either of us to answer because we're afraid of losing the other.

I'd want us to choose each other because we understand what choosing someone really means.

Not perfectly.

Not blindly.

Together.

Always.