Maybe tomorrow you'll call me and tell me of the things that happened to you; things that happened to me. You'd laugh at my silly comments and brush away my silent voices. Our friends will ask you why and you will tell them. You always tell. Our friends will ask me why and I'll paint them a picture. All around us they will only hear what they want to hear but seeing, they would at least see a picture.

No, I don't want to cause any trouble. But you couldn't possibly see what I cannot see myself. Yet you look into my eyes and decide you've seen what's inside. And I felt the corners of my mouth curved into a smile. I saw you instead; in shallow waters of the river's edge, looking satisfied with both feet in the waters, oblivious of the undertow that will pull you under if you dared any further. But, then again it's just shallow waters for you.

Funny thing the reversedge is. It doesn't cut, it damages though. And while over time it'll heal, it does nothing for the pain. It just makes everything harder.

It's getting dark; the skies. And I have many miles to travel in directions of this enigmatic river. Constantly, I'm at a loss.

So, maybe tomorrow I'll find my way home.