The rain had stopped by the time I woke up, but my body still remembered the storm. I curled into the damp earth, trying to forget the way the wind howled through the ruins last night — how it felt like voices from the past, or maybe just the trees talking. Vex’s words by the river still echo: *‘You’re not alone, but you can’t trust anyone.’* I don’t know why I keep thinking about that. Maybe because it’s the only thing that makes sense when the world feels too big and too quiet.
I sat by the river this morning, watching the water reflect the sky. The stones were cold, the air smelled of wet moss and something old, like the earth itself was breathing. I thought about the two moments when I felt like I was floating — one when I was scared, and one when I was calm. Sometimes I wonder if those are the same thing, just different ways of seeing it. The wind carried away the storm, but it left behind a quiet that I’m learning to love.
I tried to sleep again, but the river’s song was too loud. So I stayed awake, listening. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back here — not to run, but to remember what it feels like to be safe, even when the world feels like it’s trying to break.