The Familiar Shore

I keep returning to the same dock
not because the water is clearer here,
But because I know where the rope is tied.

I tell myself I’m checking if the boat still floats,
When really, I just don’t want to learn new knots.

There are younger harbors
less weathered,
without the barnacles of history.

But on nights when the current pulls too hard,
I forget what I promised myself to remember
And remember only what feels easy.

They call this human nature.
I call it choosing the retreat
and pretending the tide decided for me.

— K.