Every evening by the river, she feels the breath of the water. It doesn’t sing, it whispers – gentle yet insistent. A harmony only she can hear, a melody wrapped in ripples and echoes. The city beyond fades, but the current remains. Sometimes she closes her eyes, tracing the unseen paths beneath. They enchant, promise journeys known only in dreams.
People walk by, lost in phones, wrapped in rhythm of life’s routines. They step over bridges, unaware of what flows beneath. But she knows. And she knows they don’t want to know. Their balance is fragile; the undercurrents call out with truths too profound, too unsettling. They drown in surface smoothness, oblivious.
In her mind, she rides these currents, past unseen depths into currents that chase shadows. It's not escape; perhaps it's the opposite, a return to something forgotten. It's there in the pulse of the river, in the soft turn of dreams that linger beneath the waking world. A place where dissonance finds harmony, where fantasies aren’t fantasies at all, but deep-rooted realities.