This is not about that trip.
This is the thing:
I am floating now. I wasn’t before. Before I was walking– slogging really– down this river. It is bad.
But I’m floating now.
We’ve come through so much to get here. Hope, despair, giddiness, wonder, more despair. Accidents. Crying. Some laughter. More crying. Finally, we’ve all processed through to acceptance, I think.
We’re floating down the river, and we are going to float our way out of here. I believe this. I believe there is a bridge around the next oxbow.
This is when I start to cry.
All the fear and sadness and worry that I’ve been holding back starts to cascade over the levy that protects my heart. I choke back my tears; I will not give in now. The bridge is around the next oxbow.
The bridge is around the next oxbow.
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