Difficult work

April 30, 2010

The words ease me into that time again as if it were murky water, the seaweed-slimy memories grabbing my ankles and tangling me there. I try not to panic, but it’s hard to breathe in liquid, and I struggle to keep above it all. Others would dry off and retreat, but I must go in to go forward, even if I can’t see the bottom, even if the shore retreats faster and faster the longer I’m submerged.

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