I see it better now. The threads. Not so simple. Stodgy. The voices run, make patterns in the paper, I see the shadows, the parts where dark deepens and light comes through. I feel more. My sincerity is sincere, the water is in everything now. Half drowned. How can you know true happiness without pain? The shape emerges, the answers mean more if you listen. I hesitate. Tell you my truth. We’re not walking on the surface anymore. We’re wading in it. Not too deep. Not yet. Can you hear the birds in the trees? The sound of the horn on the river? Some days, the best days, the water turns to ice and the cold makes me shiver. I felt nothing for weeks you know. Nothing. And now this stream of light. I see the ghostly patterns. I have different answers. We have different questions. Sometimes the same dreams. On bad days. But on good days we are swimming. I taste the joy. It’s always light and dark, no? It’s a battle, a constant battle. Life. But to see the threads, to stand under the umbrella and watch the rain run over you, to pull out what is good, what is scared, to know and understand and separate and stay still a moment in reflection returns one to one self.
The threads in the water
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