There is a river of days that I cannot seem to tell apart. They flow and gain momentum and I am drenched. My skin is soaked in time and my body floats through. How does one control this? Should one even try? 

I hold my breath and I immerse myself completely into this cold river and I feel whole, I can finally feel as though I am part of it. But I am human and holding your breath is not a quality of an intelligent life loving being. So I reemerge gasping for air and losing myself again. 

The feeling of loss is painful. It is excruciating knowing that you can’t go back, not even a single second; at least for me it is. It is not regret, nor is it remorse or nostalgia that gets you sick to your stomach. It is reality, it is that truth that you have no other option but to be present every single moment of your existence. There is no escape, no break or alone time from all of that life. I am a result of spending twenty three years swimming, struggling, diving, holding my breath and silencing the world inside that river.  I have met many swimmers, and I still do, some float with me others push my head down. The flow is endless and that river has gotten the best of many. 

I wrestle it sometimes, because I disagree with that force, I disagree with the pace. It never slows down, it just breaks into waterfalls, and I am thrust into the air hoping that I get some insight before I crash back into it. 

Sometimes my river splits into two, three or even five different directions and if I am not careful enough, whichever current that is strongest will simply carry me with it. You cannot stand still. Limbo is all in your head, time moves everything, and it carries you with it, all you can do is try to steer yourself into better conditions. 

That endlessness, it is the truth for all of us. That sameness is comforting, it is essential for learning. We carry ourselves so heavily in that water struggling so hard when we shouldn’t. I doubt the river fears it’s depths, as I doubt it mocks it’s shallows. Each has its days, and each carries us differently. Maybe sometimes smooth sailing means letting go, and simply enjoying being afloat.

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