a poem by Samson #9751 on Dappervolk, @solacefruit on Tumblr
the dark water of the river moves like silk, the silver fishing line the only thing to disturb the deep stillness, the silence: fishing requires patience—and so does grief; the pain of it winds through the body, a thousand dark rivers, a hundred questions unanswered. The fish are not biting today, but it matters not: the grief, cold as winter rain, soaks into her bones, and she waits. |
an old old old snippet by me
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