The river did not care about my plans. It flowed through the town with the patience of someone telling a story they have told a thousand times.

I learned to swim in its brown water, though swimming was mostly learning to trust the current. The river taught me that surrender can look like progress.

When I left, I carried a bottle of its water. It sits on a shelf now, sediment settled at the bottom. I have not opened it. Some homes are better kept closed.