Rivers. I love rivers, small or big ones, the sound comforts me. Sometimes they look nasty though, but I can still find beauty in it. You know like garbage floating in it or littering the shores, or the water being all yellow when it’s really hot and humid out, plus sometimes the smells aren’t all that great…but I always appreciate rivers, even if some are all fucked up. I also spent a lot of my childhood playing in the woods that bordered a river, the river and trees were kinda like friends. Good memories.
Saw the ocean once, but my mom was like, you bitch! Get the your ass in the car, I gotta get drunk already!
But when I lived with my dad and he saw that something was bothering me, he’d take me down by the one woodsy river I talked about, because he knew I liked it there and it might be easier to spill my guts. Didn’t always work, but sometimes it did. I built forts and shit down there out of dead branches and crap, ran around, grabbed a stick and pretended I was a knight and all, it was awesome.
I also love frozen rivers at night. Friends and I would play on them after school, go for dinner and come back out and it was all dark. Dude this was Winnipeg in the middle of Winter, it was safe, and the city even made skating paths for people to go skating around on the rivers. I’ll always remember it, freezing cold with snot coming out of our noses, but we didn’t give a shit man, we made up worlds on there and had a blast.
So my imagination and memories are responsible for my love of rivers, and although I don’t do anything like that near them at this age, I still love spending hours sitting there, reading books or drinking coffee and just checking it out. Rivers kick ass. But fuck mosquitoes, damn it.
I figure, if I ever want to commit suicide, I won’t commit suicide, what I’ll do is find a river, and follow it forever.