A river is a metaphor for life. A dark ribbon that ties your past to your future. It is not hard to imagine yourself traveling along. It is not a lonely journey. Friends and strangers arrive from places unknown to drift along beside you for a time. Some that leave do return further along, while others choose streams that flow too far away from yours and are never seen again.

There is one rule on this river that holds true above all others. No matter the origin, all streams flow in the same general direction. You have the appearance of control. The appearance of freedom. Paddle hard enough and you can change your course, and perhaps even the course of others. But you cannot go back. You cannot return to a spot already passed, a stream not traveled. The current is so powerful it makes all decisions final.

The accident was sudden and brutal. She was dead, and all reason left me. I turned and paddled against the stream. With rage and will alone, I fought successfully against a current thought too fast to fight.

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