end.

end.

There is no middle.

There is no middle for Mei, because everything leads to the end. Something starts, and then it ends. There is never time in between for her; no time at all. There had never been any time with her mother. She is terrified that there will be no time with Mrs. Yuan, either. She is terrified that there will be no time with Yixing. The thoughts make her tremble and break down into tears at night when she is alone in her room, absolutely sure that no one is looking or watching except for the ocean.

Sometimes Mei hates the ocean, and yet she can't help but love it unconditionally. It listens to everything she says and sees everything she does and knows everything she thinks. The ocean knows everything about her because in a way, it is her. The ocean is Mei and Mei is the ocean. They are one, but sometimes Mei can't help but think that they will be separated one day. Some days she hopes and hopes and hopes until her tears stop falling and her fists are too weak to be clenched. Maybe, someday, the ocean will not be a part of her and she will finally be able to find someone else to fill up the other part of her soul. Someone like Yixing.

She has given herself to him, and he knows. But she knows that she hasn't given everything, for the ocean has a part of her, and he knows that too. She sees the way he looks at the salty, churning water. He hates it just as much as it hates him.

Mei is eighteen now, and Yixing has claimed her as his since the day they met. It has been three years - but only one and a half years, counting the time that anyone else has known.

Mrs. Yuan is not with her anymore. She is well and alive, but Mrs. Yuan now has enough money to live on her own, and Mei is old enough. But the old woman, now older than before and so delicate Mei cringes whenever she moves, visits almost everyday. Her grandchildren live in the capital, where most of them have been successful in business. They send their grandmother money every month, something she graciously accepts.

Mei feels at peace. Her mother is safely in the ocean, all the way at the bottom. She knows that the woman is still watching her, somehow. Maybe the ocean relays all the information it learns to her mother. It probably does. The ocean knows everything, and so her mother must know everything, too.

Lost at sea, they had said.

When will he come back, she had said.

Never, they had thought. Soon, they had said.

Mrs. Yuan tries to comfort her, but her bony hands with veins running underneath them like spiderwebs are too fragile to hold her down.

She is floating in between the realms of reality and dreams, slipping in and out of consciousness. Mei does not feel right. Something is incredibly wrong. She feels detached from the world, as if everything else is in her place except for her. She is off balance. She is strange. She should not be in this world, an abomination like her. She is not the earth. She is the water; she is what keeps the land afloat.

She does not remember eating. She does not remember sleeping. She does not remember talking. Mei does not remember doing anything except for staring into nothing but emptiness.

Why is she so impacted by this?

Yixing had not even taken up a big part of her heart. Three years is nothing compared to her whole eighteen years. But it is. Three years is everything she has felt in her whole entire life.

Yixing did not know everything about her. She had never told him her deepest, darkest secrets. The most in-depth conversation she had with him was about their families. Most of the time they went around in circles, teasing each other. And yet he knew everything about her with those clear brown eyes.

Mei realizes that she was alone once, found someone, and is alone again.

When she finally regains consciousness, the sound of the ocean fills her ears in a thunderous roar. She feels that she needs to get out of bed, although it takes all her strength just to sit up. Only by her sheer will does she get to the edge of her room. The window is open, and the salty air fills her nose. The scent is familiar, but an unsettling feeling settles in her stomach. She grimaces.

Mei hates the ocean now.

She sees no point now.

Mei is lost inside her own mind. Every morning she hauls herself out of bed, but something always manages to pull her back under the covers. They make her feel so safe. The soft piece of cloth covers her whole body and wraps her inside its warmth, creating a cozy home for her to burrow in. She wishes she could stay inside her safe haven for the rest of her life, but Mrs. Yuan is a stubborn person. And she is always hungry.

She thinks that she has gone mute, but how can she be sure? The words she thinks she says aloud somehow end up bottled inside of her. She never knows when she will reply. When she does, Mrs. Yuan smiles warmly and pats her hand with her frail hands. When she does not, Mrs. Yuan cries.

Mei cries, too, because the words always get caught in when she has the most to say.

And it hurts when she is alone. She never knows if she is talking or not because the only person left to verify it is herself, and she never knows.

She feels blessed that Mrs. Yuan always comes to her home. Mei knows that she would have lost herself a long time ago if it weren't for the strong-willed woman that stays by her side no matter what. But Mei can feel herself slowly slipping away each time she wakes up to the waves of the ocean crashing against the shore.

Sometimes, when she feels motivated enough, she walks out of her house and goes down to the beach.

She gets scared when she does, because most of the time she only makes it to the shore. Then she collapses into the rocky sand and scrapes her hands and knees with the struggle to get up.

Then the tears come and they taste as salty as the sea. They make her cuts burn and her heart ache.

Mei hates the ocean now.

"I...have to leave now, Mrs. Yuan. I'm...s-sorry."

She can talk now. And if she finds that she cannot, she forces herself to. Her speech usually comes out slow and shaky, but now she can make herself form words. They never get caught in anymore.

The old woman cups her face with her delicate hands.

"You're just like your mother, you know? Just like her." She puts down her cup of tea and walks Mei over to the couch. It is stiff from never being used. Mei always stays in her room now and only comes out when she has guests, which is never. She is amazed that the woman managed to coax her into the kitchen.

"H-how...did you know my mother?"

Mrs. Yuan smiles and points towards the sea, her eyes sparkling like jewels.

"I'm just like you, you know. And I'm just like your mother. But the ocean is patient in waiting for me."

Mei is trembling. She clenches her fists and wills herself to stop. But then the feeling comes again with more force than before, and she shivers terribly at the sensation. Memories come at her suddenly, stabbing at her in a staccato of pin pricks so small they seem invisible, but they are there. They are certainly there, with the blood flowing from the wounds steadily. A heavy weight settles onto her chest. It feels just like water, pushing her down all the way to the bottom. It feels so wrong and so right. Nothing is balanced anymore.

"Is...is it waiting for m-me now? Is it?"

Mrs. Yuan's eyes grow dull. She frowns.

"It has wanted you since the day you were born. The ocean is greedy, and many a time have I tried holding it off. But-"

"You will make it will take you, too, won't you? You'll offer yourself instead. Oh, don't...don't do this, Mrs. Yuan. I-I'll...I'll go."

The old woman panics. She jumps up so suddenly with such vigor that Mei wonders where all her energy has come from, and then Mrs. Yuan is closing all the windows shut and she is pushed into her room and her back slams into the bed. When she is finally able to register what is happening, Mrs. Yuan is tucking her into the covers just the way she likes it. She feels warm and cozy and the conversation is slowly slipping from her mind. Mei cannot hear the ocean through her window anymore. She barely makes out the words the old woman says to her.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, dear. I'll go. Please don't do anything, I'll go."

paralian

noun

1. A dweller by the sea.

Mei remembers her mother once telling her, "We're paralians, dear. Now, do you know what a paralian is?"

"Nope!" Her tiny grin grew wider when her mother had gathered her up in her arms and carried her around the house, humming a song.

Paralians, paralians

We live by the sea

To open our hearts,

you must find the key

It lies all the way at the bottom

so that you may never find it

Paralians, paralians

We live by the sea

All the time, we swim away

We swim away everyday

Paralians, paralians

We live by the sea

She hums it to herself now as she makes her way down the cracked driveway. Her strength slowly but surely came back to her with the help of Mrs. Yuan's mouth-watering chicken soup.

Mrs. Yuan.

Mei wipes her tears before they drop to the ground. She may know that she is crying, and the ocean may know that she is crying, but the earth shall have no evidence of it.

"Sorry, Mrs. Yuan. S-sorry."

She takes one last look at the house once she reaches the bottom of the driveway. Mei feels faint as she takes in the old, worn-down house. It sits at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the jagged rocks below. She remembers hearing the ocean down below every morning and every night. She remembers it all, from the way it would wake her up to the way it would lull her to sleep. Mei hates the ocean now, but she can not bring herself to stop loving it, either.

She is barefoot. The rocky shore hurts beneath her feet. A broken shell scratches at her exposed skin. Mei winces and continues on, trying to ignore the pain in her foot. Trying to ignore the trail of blood she is leaving behind her. Trying to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks. Trying to ignore the beating of her heart inside her chest.

The water at her toes and beckons to her. The waves crash at the shore in a dull roar that she remembers hearing every morning and every night.

Shhhhh, it whispers. Shhhhh. Be quiet and come here.

She has let her mother and even Yixing slip out of her fingers. She is now letting go of herself.

When will she be able to hold on?

Lost at sea, they had said.

When will she come back, the old woman had said.

Never, they had thought. Soon, they had said.