The river will flow.

I am a river. You will never encounter me twice. You will never see this again. I am never the same when I look at the mirror, probably because I don’t do it often. I am never the same when I look deep inside my head, I am always discovering new corners, new rooms… New scars. It’s hard to notice because I am with myself all the time (how annoying), but change happens way to often. It’s too quick for me to follow.

I am a current, and I have no choice. Everything spins so fast, and I can’t stop.

I flow up and down, sometimes against the wind, sometimes against gravity. Sometimes against my own will.

Some days I go dry, like thirsty empty veins, waiting for another heartbeat.

Some days I don’t know myself. I can’t recognize this person. This mind, this body. I don’t understand the words that I speak, or the words that I hear. And I stay quiet, like stagnant waters… If I don’t move, I am sure it will pass… It will pass. My streams will flow again.

It will pass.

Some days I am light. I can see clearly, my eyes wide open, colors sharp, I can see all edges and shapes of a somehow easy reality… But some days I am dark. I see nothing but cliffs and empty spaces, too many painful questions and no solutions. I am attracted to sharp objects, and my skin longs and screams for things that I don’t want to understand.

It will pass.

Sometimes I go mad.

Sometimes I realize.

It scares me to think that sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I can’t do anything about it. I just stop and stare. Until it passes.

I(t) will pass.

It took me years to understand that it would probably always be like this. The river will always flow until it goes dry. But it will be a river again, soon enough. (And it will dry once more.)

River from pixabay

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