But the deep truth they whispered only to themselves: Every time you say “I am” — you are lying a little. You are a river, not a stone. And every time you say “it is” — you are closing a door that should stay open.
“Where is the stone now?” she asked. nounally
She tossed it into the river. The splash happened — a verb, a sound, a vanishing. Then stillness. But the deep truth they whispered only to
But something else appeared too: loneliness. nounally