Parts of our lives touch and cohere for a second until a whirlpool pulls us apart and reorganizes the relationship. There is an appearance of intentionality and permanency in the arrangement that is false. Some of us are delayed as we encounter a rock and the rest hurry down an eddy. We're still bright and waxy. We're not brown and soggy yet, not porous and slowly absorbing the water until we sink below the surface and become part of the muddy river bottom.
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