Soundings

Before entering unfamiliar water, sailors take soundings.

When approaching a harbor, they check what lies beneath the ship — sand, mud, rock.

They measure the depth under the hull not because they expect disaster, but because safe passage depends on knowing what the surface can’t show.

The anticipation of a second reunion after the rupture feels like a sounding.

The closer I get to seeing him again, the more I notice what sits beneath the excitement: hope, fear, memory, caution, longing.

Since our first reunion, we have carried love and hope. But one bad moment sent a hurricane rushing toward shore.

That sudden shift came without warning, but it wasn't without context. Doubt rose quickly. Harsh words followed. Even in volatility, there were signs of goodwill.

I remember how our first reunion unfolded. The first hour was awkward and a little frightening. Then, slowly, we found our way back to ourselves.

Excitement and fear coexist as I prepare to step back into that space after everything that has happened since—wondering if I will see this place differently through a new perspective…

…with a different future in mind.

The water may look calm from above.

Soundings reveal what the surface cannot.

Sailors move with caution, but also with anticipation. They navigate with awareness.

What am I measuring now?

Whether hope is still grounded in what is actually happening.

Whether tenderness can survive disagreement.

Whether trust is growing in both directions.

Whether I can enter familiar rooms without abandoning myself.

I am not only measuring whether the water is deep enough to carry us.

I am measuring whether I can return without disappearing into apology.

Whether I can be loved there without feeling constantly watched.

Whether the rooms will still feel warm or whether I will enter them braced for judgement.

Whether I can want this reunion without abandoning the part of me that now knows she needs peace too.

The destination is familiar. It is not an unknown shore.

I’m returning to a place I’ve already entered once, wondering whether it will feel the same now that so much has changed.

I am not the same.

Our future is open and uncertain.

But uncertainty is not the same as being lost.

I am still moving toward him.

But this time, I am measuring more than the depth beneath the boat.

I am measuring whether there is enough room in this harbor for both love and self-respect.

For now, I'm taking soundings.