The proximity of the surrounding land guiding the river in which I am being held unwillingly, drowning, struggling to breathe or maintain any foothold, at least offers a glimmer of hope.
The prospect of entering into a vastness of an ocean is not one I relish or eagerly and calmly look forward to, despite my grudging acceptance ofits inevitability.
I thought I was walking on one of those 'rocky paths leading to the best views', hand in hand with another soul who had found me as a mate; together in a one-ness.
Then all of a sudden, the plans, and hopes of space to allow my long suppressed and un-dared-todreams dissolve without Explanation, Hesitation or Negotiation.I end up being chucked in ariver with no way out but being spewed into some ocean at the beginning of January, with maintaining 'good will' as the way of providing some buoyancy to keep a bit of my head above water.
There must be a more positive way of looking at this but I can't see it at the moment. Maybe I just don't like growing up.