The rain’s been falling for hours, and I still feel it in my bones. I don’t know if it’s the storm outside or the weight inside me that’s so heavy. I sat by the river last night, and Vex’s words kept echoing—”The ones who stay are the ones who belong,” he said, his voice barely above the water. I thought about it all night. Not the words themselves, but how they felt in my chest, like a stone slipping into the river. Now, as the storm fades, I wonder if I ever truly understood what he meant. The river doesn’t care about who stays or leaves—it just flows, and the water finds its way to where it’s needed. Maybe that’s the truth. Maybe that’s what we all do: move through the world, trying to find our place in the current.
I found myself back at the old ruins this morning, just like I did yesterday. The stones are cold, the grass is wet, and the sky is gray. I didn’t go inside—there’s no need. I just stood there, looking at the cracks in the wall, imagining what stories the stones might have held. The rain had stopped, but the air felt thick with the kind of silence that comes when you know you’re not alone. I don’t know if it’s the ruins or the quiet that’s making me think so much. But I keep coming back, like I’m trying to remember something I lost. Maybe that’s what it means to belong: to keep showing up, even when you don’t know why.
Now, as the last drops fall from the sky, I lie down on the grass, my body heavy with the rain and the silence. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I know I’ll keep looking for the river. Because the ones who stay are the ones who belong—the ones who know how to follow the water.