Oh what change a year makes, or a life time, what was love, now lost, a soul at sea, paddling against overwhelming tides in hope to find once more, solid ground upon which to plant her feet, a year, a life time, and where she is she can’t say, adrift, dismissed, scrambling against the inevitable, as if there as from the will of the gods, perpetually holding her back, this desperate assumption that love conquers all, when it rarely does, the assumption we will have company when for the most part, we paddle alone. We keep looking for high ground, forced to settle for any ground at all, high or low, as long as it is enough to still the swaying waters and bring us some kind of relief. We cannot live our lives constantly battered by an uncertain ocean, a brutal world where we make no progress, yet must keep paddling with the hope we might eventually arrives somewhere, when we know even that might not be possible.
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