My rose this spring break was going to the west coast. My family and I went to Sanibel, and it was this beautiful, secret little world we lived in for the week. The sand was white and the water sparkled like diamonds. I woke up everyday to a perfectly blue sky and the smell of salty air. My hair got lighter, my skin got tanner, and the cynical side of me faded away with the sea breeze. I absolutely love the beach and the feeling I get when the salt water leaves my hair crispy and my skin tight. I wish I could stay in our tiny house on the beach forever. But without a doubt, my thorn was the sunsets. They make me feel like I'm the man in the painting Scream. The red and orange sky makes my head spin, and while everyone snaps a picture I’m left watching as my mind explodes into chaos. Most times I can ignore it, but this trip I felt overwhelmed by the foreboding feeling. I’ve been scared for so long that it has become normal, and the sunsets only seem to mock the fear that has grown roots inside me, twisting me into a giant mess. While everyone was taking photos, I would retreat back to the house to let myself be comforted by the hot water in the shower. There are no windows in the bathroom which means no sunsets and no anxiety. I love the sunrise, maybe because it signals a new beginning. But something about the idea of a  sunset makes me want to cry. It’s probably a bunch of things- like the day ending. Or how it makes me feel like I’m dying. It’s mainly because of that one moment where the sky is dark blue (not black yet), and the red from the sunset still lingers on the horizon, splitting the sky from the ocean, when I feel like I’m drowning in the newfound darkness.