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I’ve been told a winding river flows to nowhere
but I see its journey as its destination.
They say as far as the eye can see it moves toward somewhere out there,
twisting and turning and carrying with it anything in its way.
Not sure where it flows, it still goes, somewhere.
I see a river much like my own story,
moving through the sludge, pulling the mud along with it,
finding purpose in its forward movement.
The river and my life bring with it the dark of its story as part of the process of getting to where it’s going.
No looking back in wishful thinking,
it doesn’t resist the muddy banks,
it’s just part of its process.
And as water flows downstream,
so goes the journey through the ups, the downs, the ebbs, and the flows of its process.
And so flows my story.
Wild like a river.
-Original poem by Nell T. of Yours Truly Nell-
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