Floodland

These rivers are bound to overflow. The rain will fall; drowning torrents of glass blue beads pulled by gravity, cascading life into the streets and yards and hills and valleys, filling the rivers to capacity until the floodgates give way and that vital water rushes out beyond its barriers, into our world. The it will make a mad dash for the sea. We are these rivers. You and I. We will take in life like sweet summer sunshine until we cannot hold anymore. Then we will pour it out. We will travel the world, gorging our own path, blazing our own trail, and making our own history. Like each raindrop that falls tonight. They wont remember us. They wont take note of our journey or call us out by name. They wont notice the water level in the ocean rise. But they will see the flowers that grow in our tracks, the nourishment provided in our forgotten fragments. They will know, somehow, deep in the subconscious reaches of their mind, that we were here. That we were love. We are as infinite as those raindrops in the river. We can never end. We fall, we flood, we run, we grow, we disappear, we fall again. Together forever. In this lifetime and the next. Immortal, no matter what they say. Because things like you and me don’t just fade away. We become part of the atmosphere.