What the River Keeps

A bottle cap. A child's drawing, waterlogged. The river collects without asking, holds without judgment.

It knows the weight of things— silver coins that sank, letters that became ink, the small betrayals we've learned to float past.

Downstream, someone will find what we lost and mistake it for treasure, will pocket it like a secret, will never know what hands released it, what prayers were wrapped around it in the moment before letting go.

The river, patient, patient, always moving, teaches us: nothing arrives at the same shore twice.