I wrote this about a friendship I have. My closest one, actually. But I feel like I'm draining her, and that's scary, and when I'm scared, or anxious, or have any strong emotions, really, I write about it. It's like crying, but I can use metaphor to hide my vulnerabilty. The River and the RockThe rock started out on land,
surrounded by others who knew it, and the river nearby was only a set-piece. But the rock wanted to get closer, so it tumbled into the river. Water only accentuates a stone's beauty. At least at first. Because the water began to run muddy, and the river watched its rock turn to sand under the too intense, too opaque, too inconstant waters. A rock this beautiful belongs in a lake. Somewhere where the waters are still, and the currents predictable. Yet this rock fell into a river. It knew not what it was doing, when it saw the way the fish swam with the water's current, and the little boats were carried on the back of the river, And couldn’t help but to follow. But a rock is not a fish, because fish are new, and naive, and are easily pulled by mild currents. And a rock is not a boat, because boats are still separate from the river, And so they can be lifted up without the river leaking into them. A rock is a rock. A rock is wiser, more beautiful, more exquisitely rare and unique than any fish or boat. The river was lucky to have the rock, and in the beginning, the rock enjoyed being in the river. But the river began to erode the rock ever so slowly, so the rock never understood that it was shrinking. Until it was too small to escape. And when the river realized this, it tried to tell the rock it wasn't its fault. but the rock had been shaped by the river and thus didn't believe a thing it said. The river cried and flooded and when it realised that the water only hurt the rock further, dried its shores up and begged the rock not to come closer. But the rock tumbled down into the river which was now a stream and secretly the stream was glad, because it loved that rock so dearly and was selfishly attached to it. Still, the stream knew it was only harming the rock, so it dried itself up once more. And this time, the rock understood, and tumbled away. As far away as possible. The next time it rained, the stream was revived and saw that the rock was gone, and as the water from the skies joined with the water of the earth, the stream begged the universe, to spare the rock from falling into another river, lest the rock be too worn down to escape a second time.
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