Currents

Something about flowing rivers made her smile

I suppose a metaphor for moving on,

Everlasting change, the only constant,

She loved running her hand through the stream,

In perpetual awe of the current, 

forging forwards, 

nothing was ever strong enough to hold you back

she would say,

If you're strong enough, you take them with you

if not, they take you,

She loved coffee stained paper

and letters with wax seals,

dried petals and glass vials of floral essence,

moonlight glinting off the stars, 

and music that could bring tears to your eyes,

but beyond the beauty of mundane mornings,

with sunsets that feel like new beginnings,

she loved love,

and all it meant to fall, 

a metaphor maybe, for taking a leap,

beyond inhibitions and fleeting insecurities,

fears of the ticking clock,

racing, sometimes slowing to a crawl,

certainty that wounds would heal,

sure as the stream flows.

                                      --Ananya Murali