We see the stone. The impenetrable layers of stone. Heavy, hard layers of solid stone shielding a soft, smooth, sandy shore. The sandy shore that we really look for. The one that we can sink into. The one that makes us feel we’re safe, where warm beads conform to every inch our bodies, cradling every curve and breathing with each breathe. We know it is there beneath the rock, waiting for us to find it. With every strand of patience, we lift the rocks away, casting them into the lake, where we think they’ll dissolve and die, but they don’t. Instead, they drift back with the current to the places they lived before, adding what feels like another blade to the impermeable armor we battle. We attempt to drill, to saw, to crack, to break, to peel. We try to snap, to cut, to slice, to pop, to kill. We strain to loosen, to melt, to fade, to transform. Our passion and our hope pull us through an unrewarded effort to dispel these layers of stone that will simply not budge. They fight back. Eventually they drill and saw and break and peel. They successfully snap and cutt and slice and pop. With ease, they loosen and melt and fade and transform us into something much smaller. Something no longer capable of clinging to that passion and hope that pulled us through; its been pulled from us. All we can do now is paint another coat to disguise our failures. With nowhere else to go, we must learn to love the stones. Cover them with colors that our eyes won’t strain to look at and images that fool our thoughts into thinking it’s all right. We will lie down on that rocky shore as it digs into our flesh and bruises our spines and we convince ourselves that it feels fine. The layers of stone will penetrate our souls so that we will deem ourselves undeserving of a more delightful destiny. We no longer see the stone. We don’t want to be alone.
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