small and alive.

and then i bent over and set it on top of the water, thin but not weak. it drifted like a leaf, like i was the tree that wrote that letter. the current was reversed, so close to the island, and so my words went backwards for a while, until they were swept up in the mighty mississippi, unable to strain any longer against its pull. i cried. i began to pick up rocks to throw into the river, one by one, making loud splashes, feeling an angry and relieved strain in my arm over and over. but then, finally, i looked back up and it had gone. i don't know if it sank, or just floated out of my view. in any case, it is gone.

well, the paper is gone.

the problem is not.

but somehow, this is easier, now.

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