the things we see-II: River's Diary
March, 2025
She walked past me today.
Her gaze hollow, her pace a ghost.
I can see crimson threads
weaving down her arms—
not gloves, no.
I think she’s going to the Cliff.
I wonder if she’ll return.
Most never did.
April, 2025
She sat at the bank all day
and stared at my ripples—
It is what I’m proud of the most.
I tried to sing for her,
shame that she can’t hear.
So I cried with her instead,
until her tears dried—
Wish I could stop my streams,
but I’m a sentimental River.
May, 2025
I heard the Cliff complaining—
sea wind scratched his face.
She ran past, breathless—
Chased by what I can’t drown.
Hope she made it home tonight.
June, 2025
Nobody saw her.
A daisy bloomed beside me today.
I’ll keep it fresh for her.
July, 2025
August, 2025
She passed by again.
In that flowy silk dress,
and her eyes shimmer.
She was humming,
with a voice low but heavenly—
Oh, and she found my daisy!
I’ve seen that light before—
She’s going to the Cliff.
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