a little pocket-sized trinket that she holds in one of her hands.
Time goes on like this. Walking. Adventure.
No need to think about tomorrow.
He shows up. They meet because they are walking in the same direction. They seek out the same destination.
Adventure.
Each line invisible are events that transpire while she is alive.
The lines visible here are of events that either never happen or happen after demise. These are the lines that take place where there is no longer any life.
If she could imagine the page, she would see that her life wasn’t a waste.
They are able to throw their speech, share and borrow their bodies, and collectively remain significant in each other’s life.
But they never meet until they stop walking.
When she stops walking, it all stops.
And so she walks.
HER TURN
She walked the imagined terrain until the physical limitations of her destroyed body could no longer be denied.
She imagined steps where the sea had parted. In place of the parting it looked now like a frozen canyon.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted and her voice bounced back throughout the canyon until it returned to her:
“Are we having fun?” His voice.
It might have been excitement. It might have been delusion.
Whatever it was, it was how she let go.
She had come to believe what her imagination splayed across the greater expanse of her blindness.
There was no difference now.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted again.
He answered back with the question.
Two more steps passed. She was getting closer.
She could feel the burden being lifted two at a time, each step pulling from her everything that had resided in her to remain.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted.
His voice answered with the same question. She had begun to wonder if he was the one that needed to know.
She continued down the steps.
What initially couldn’t be answered registered as obvious.
She said, “I have fun when I’m with you.”
And then she asked the question again.
By now she was nearly at the bottom of the canyon. She hesitated. She couldn’t see anything at the bottom. She heard nothing back.
The fantasy started to slip away and she could almost see the reality of this descent, the pressure of taking on water, the pressure of deep sea, but then she heard.
She heard him.
And what did he say?
He said, “ .”
He said what she needed to hear in order to let go.
She took the final two steps and as simple as his part ended in this tale, hers ends now.
It ends right here. She swam until the swimming had passed her, much longer than her past could bother. Every buoy peeled, soon she felt the pressure.
And there, after a complete and final acceptance, she sank, pulled under until she became the water and the water became her.
The ocean pulled from her a final choking gasp.
She was passed over to the sea that passes over her in the gentlest waves.
She did what is done.
She let go.
OUR TURN
So now you can see why they couldn’t be for long.
They had wanted to be individuals, much like we all seek the highest waves in hopes of surfing them to a distant shoreline, one that doesn’t exist until found. We seek the peaks in hopes of pleasing the fact that we thought we were, for a time, an individual among individuals. Though we may, though we might, the waves are purely that—temporary and fleeting, no matter how high. The current continues,
Time goes on like this. Walking. Adventure.
No need to think about tomorrow.
He shows up. They meet because they are walking in the same direction. They seek out the same destination.
Adventure.
Each line invisible are events that transpire while she is alive.
The lines visible here are of events that either never happen or happen after demise. These are the lines that take place where there is no longer any life.
If she could imagine the page, she would see that her life wasn’t a waste.
They are able to throw their speech, share and borrow their bodies, and collectively remain significant in each other’s life.
But they never meet until they stop walking.
When she stops walking, it all stops.
And so she walks.
HER TURN
She walked the imagined terrain until the physical limitations of her destroyed body could no longer be denied.
She imagined steps where the sea had parted. In place of the parting it looked now like a frozen canyon.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted and her voice bounced back throughout the canyon until it returned to her:
“Are we having fun?” His voice.
It might have been excitement. It might have been delusion.
Whatever it was, it was how she let go.
She had come to believe what her imagination splayed across the greater expanse of her blindness.
There was no difference now.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted again.
He answered back with the question.
Two more steps passed. She was getting closer.
She could feel the burden being lifted two at a time, each step pulling from her everything that had resided in her to remain.
“Are we having fun?” she shouted.
His voice answered with the same question. She had begun to wonder if he was the one that needed to know.
She continued down the steps.
What initially couldn’t be answered registered as obvious.
She said, “I have fun when I’m with you.”
And then she asked the question again.
By now she was nearly at the bottom of the canyon. She hesitated. She couldn’t see anything at the bottom. She heard nothing back.
The fantasy started to slip away and she could almost see the reality of this descent, the pressure of taking on water, the pressure of deep sea, but then she heard.
She heard him.
And what did he say?
He said, “ .”
He said what she needed to hear in order to let go.
She took the final two steps and as simple as his part ended in this tale, hers ends now.
It ends right here. She swam until the swimming had passed her, much longer than her past could bother. Every buoy peeled, soon she felt the pressure.
And there, after a complete and final acceptance, she sank, pulled under until she became the water and the water became her.
The ocean pulled from her a final choking gasp.
She was passed over to the sea that passes over her in the gentlest waves.
She did what is done.
She let go.
OUR TURN
So now you can see why they couldn’t be for long.
They had wanted to be individuals, much like we all seek the highest waves in hopes of surfing them to a distant shoreline, one that doesn’t exist until found. We seek the peaks in hopes of pleasing the fact that we thought we were, for a time, an individual among individuals. Though we may, though we might, the waves are purely that—temporary and fleeting, no matter how high. The current continues,
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