You entered as one thing, exited as another. People forgot their names mid-crossing. Some emerged laughing, others trembling. It wasn’t just the water—it was what it asked of you: "Who are you without your story?"
Bridges Made of Possibility
There were no real bridges, only paths that formed if you asked the right question. Some walked across lies and still made it. Others fell through truth and never came back. The river didn’t judge. It only reflected.
Names are only important until you outgrow the need for them.
Fish That Knew Your Secrets
They followed closely, circling like memories. Some whispered advice. Others stared silently. If you caught one, it turned into a phrase from your past. Most let them swim on—afraid of hearing themselves out loud.
