In the mist of the morning, I walked down to the river’s edge. Where I could envelope myself in the specific kind of stillness that only… — In the mist of the morning, I walked down to the river’s edge. Where I could envelope myself in the specific kind of stillness that only comes from where the water meets the land. The fog on the horizon crept closer until I could feel the dampness dancing on my skin. On my arms it found a home where it delighted in what remained of you from the night before. The feeling of your arms around me left a lasting impression, as if it was meant to be there. Our meeting clung to my heart, wrung out my insides until there was hardly anything left. I felt raw and vulnerable and unsure of what to do with the feelings that had become foreign to me over the years. So I ran to the river, and dissolved into the fog until nothing remained of me.