Sit here, jot down your feelings. Like that will help me. Sure it will have some semblance of release, but what good will it really do? Strangers, clunk across the wood flanks, that have probably seen their share of misery and disaster. Is that how they see it? The planks, I mean. Sure, it was probably uncomfortable to be completely submersed in tumultuous water, pulling at it, threatening to rip it completely to shreds at each storm's whim. But maybe, just maybe, when it was all said and done, those planks felt cleansed. Maybe they had to go through those storms to realize how good it feels to be dry, and daily warmed and caressed by the sun. Right now, an old woman is crossing on the dock of this river front with the support of a walker, in addition to the support of those same planks, keeping her from being swallowed into the river. Naturally she, or anyone else, would not be trying to stand there without the aid of them, but somehow I feel very grateful for those planks, keeping that old woman and I from falling. Those planks now take on a sort of care-giving roll...interesting.
"Sweet darling, why don't you pretend we were just a dream?"
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