this island won’t let me leave

ever since i was a little girl i’ve wanted to run as far away as i could. i never really fit here, not in the neat, beach town way, not in the knowing everyone, same faces, same stories sense. cape cod smells like salt and regret and overpriced lobster rolls, and the seagulls? the seagulls are total assholes. they circle like tiny anarchists, waiting for you to drop something so they can swoop in and ruin your life a little. i want off. i want streets that spit neon in my face, sidewalks daring me to sprint, a city that doesn’t care if i stumble, spill coffee, laugh too loud, exist incorrectly. i want chaos, noise, the kind of thrill that rattles your chest and makes you forget you even had a plan.

but then. i step outside.

and the grass? it’s almost obscene, stupidly green, soft enough that my bare feet sink in like it’s trying to swallow me whole. the ocean folds in on itself like it’s holding secrets it’ll never admit out loud, dark, teasing, pulling me closer while daring me to leave. the waves slap the shore like they know every thought i’ve tried to keep to myself, and the wind tangles my hair, wraps around my arms, brushes my collarbone, and suddenly i feel drunk without touching a drink. sand clings to me in all the wrong places, gritty and stubborn, like it wants proof i was here. salt, seaweed, something sweet from the bakery down the street, it all hits at once and i realize i’m dizzy from being this awake.

it’s the little things i almost miss when i’m busy planning my escape. someone laughing behind me. gulls cutting across the sky like they’re plotting tiny revenge. the way the sun catches the water just right and turns it molten for half a second. i’ve spent so long feeling like an outsider here, like i was meant for somewhere louder, faster, different, that i didn’t notice the island watching me back. flirting, almost. teasing. daring me to stay a heartbeat longer. i catch myself smiling like an idiot, thinking how unfair it is that i might miss this if i left tomorrow. maybe the grass really is greener here, i’ve just been too busy wanting more to see it.

so maybe i leave. maybe i stay. maybe i run in circles along the shore just to prove i can. either way, cape cod has me spinning, sunburnt, sandy, tangled in salt air, and i start to wonder if the escape i’ve been chasing wasn’t a place at all. maybe it was just learning how to look at what never quite felt like home and realizing it still knows my name.