We got matching seahorse tattoos in Puerto Vallarta.

 

I remember the heat, the ocean air, and the certainty that seemed to follow us everywhere back then. We chose seahorses, though I don’t think either of us knew much about them beyond the fact that they felt whimsical and a little romantic.

 

I’ve learned more since.

 

Seahorses aren’t strong swimmers. Ocean currents can carry them away if they’re not careful, so they use their tails to anchor themselves to coral, seagrass, and whatever else they can find. They spend their lives searching for something sturdy enough to hold onto when the water gets rough.

 

I think that’s what I loved about them.

 

Not their beauty, but their persistence.

 

They’re delicate-looking creatures that survive in an environment much bigger than themselves. They don’t fight the ocean. They learn how to move with it. How to bend without breaking.

 

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what we were trying to do.

 

The tattoo means something different to me now than it did that day in Puerto Vallarta. Back then it felt like a promise. Now it feels more like a snapshot. A pressed flower between the pages of a book I’ve already finished reading.

 

Still, I like knowing it’s there.

 

A small reminder that I once held on with everything I had. That I trusted the current. That I loved enough to believe I had found my anchor.

 

And maybe the most important thing I’ve learned from seahorses is that they aren’t meant to stay attached to the same thing forever. The tide changes. The water shifts. Sometimes survival means loosening your grip and letting the ocean carry you somewhere new.