Last year, I moved into the past.

"Without rest, there is no future."

I took a tin cup with me; three already-dry teabags. Every morning, fear. Every night, fear. I want to ask Mary how she feels on the ferry: how it is to be rocked by what none of us wants to fall into. “Without rest,” Mary says, “there is no future.”

When I disembarked, all my fears came with me. My fears won’t travel over salt water alone. My fears cla…