i was walking with you last night by a river. you were walking with yourself, your little girl self. she picked up a bike and you got on the back as she pedaled out into the current.
i hesitated on the shore.
i didn't have a bike, and i was afraid my dress would weigh me down. ultimately i didn't want to lose you to the other side so i jumped in after you. i kept my head above the surface the whole time.
we pulled ourselves up out of the water. we dried ourselves stepping through the sun. we curled up in a cabin where you and little you were overflowing with laughter. it reminded me of the first time i saw her peeking out. you were telling a story about sun salutes and the way you interacted with the Afghan observer. your mischievousness pulled me in.
i was in your happy place and it became my happy place. light and airy and spacious.
and then i checked my phone.
the voicemail began pulling me back to the other shore. as i stood to leave i noticed my dress had dried quickly from the heat. something wasn't right. the front was stained from the dirty reeds in the river and i felt a sadness for ruining it.
the reeds made a pattern that became a sort of intention. a perfect outline of bulbs and branch. a block print all along the front of me. i joked that i should swim the backstroke to complete the pattern. i soaked up your smile.
and then i woke. aching for the river, the dress: the message from the pattern
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