Someday I Will Build a House Beside the Sea…

Not a big house. Not one of those glass-and-steel places with automatic blinds and a coffee machine that talks back. No, this one will be small. It will have chipped paint and, surely, a coffee machine, but a simple one.

There will be a chair outside. Not for guests. Just for me. To sit and watch the waves, and think about all the versions of myself I’ve been.

I will think of the boy who never said what he felt. I will think of the man who tried so hard to be good that he forgot how to be real. I will think of the husband I was. And wasn’t.

And I will think of Duggu.

I will remember the Sundays. The grocery chaos. The fights about silly things, and the silences that felt like earthquakes. I will remember the love that built us. And the pain that quietly, patiently dismantled us.

She’ll be somewhere else by then. Maybe telling someone else that they put too much lemon in the dal. That’s okay.

In my house by the sea, there will be a shelf of books I’ve never finished. A kettle that’s always warm. A dog who doesn’t ask questions. And mornings that arrive slowly.

I’ll write again. Not for an audience. Just to tell things to myself I was once too afraid to say.

Maybe the loneliness will still visit. Maybe some evenings will still hurt. But the sea will be there. Constant. Loud when I need noise. Silent when I crave peace.

Some days, I’ll sit on that chair and imagine her walking down the shore. Just passing by, and knowing that I built something. That I stayed when everyone else told me to run.

Some dreams just come in the shape of a home, a cup of Americano, and a breeze that smells like salt and memory. And someday, I’ll build a house beside the sea. For all the things I loved and lost and still carry.

~ A

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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