Once flowed free, tracing unseen paths through ancients woods and brittle dreams...
The light dances, where did it go? Rivers do not remember stolen days, nor do they mourn them. We do—the edges of banks, also distant shores, recall more.
Return we say, but the ripples laugh—a soft, guttural sound resembling long-lost lullabies.
A whisper in the night carried by invisible currents. Beneath the surface, unspoken dialogues; confessions of time, naïve to its own passage.
Rest awhile, let the flow guide your heart through wandering thoughts.
Faced with choices, the river never hesitated to draw its serpentine lines, carving caverns in our solitude; horizons blurred like old photographs.