Maybe I am the river. I stand here, kicking little rocks into its depths, watching the pebbles nestle into the sand to make a new home. Some don’t stay very long. Some only stay for a few moments before washing back up to the shore downstream from my bare feet. Others are so light that they float before being pushed into the sand forcefully. Eventually, they all leave.
Then I start picking up bigger rocks, thicker ones, and I throw them further. I can’t see them land, and it will take a long time to either wash to the shore or erode completely. It will take a very long time. The river will feel the new material grit underneath her big belly for centuries. The larger ones pierce her heart, cause currents to form where they wouldn’t normally be.
If I am the river, then you are the boulder. You’re the biggest boulder. Right in the middle of the river. Sometimes I think you’re a mountain, thrown into my depths. I feel you every time I move. I move around you, but I can always feel you. You’re heavy, too. I can’t move you. I just have to bear you like a burden, make my life around you. I know that you aren’t that boulder because you were a light in my life. You were a delight. What you leave behind is that boulder. You left me a burden to bear.
Because you are gone, and I am still here.