There is an image I can’t escape.
Of a man in the water.
All around him, a river, teeming with life.
He stands, frozen in his own time, viewing the spectacle unfolding in every direction.
Nothing about the water’s current feels like home.
All of this life around him is foreign, alien even.
Despite this, the water is apathetic; completely disinterested in the man and his judgment.
There is no shore, but there is no depth.
Nothing to aim for or be afraid of.
There is no man. There is no water. There is only the image of the separation.

Am I the man or the river?