It doesnt make much sense but she really thinks i was born and i fell in love with her with the sole intention of hurting her time and again. She keeps punching holes in me through and through .. words , actions or the lack of either at times , a profusion of them at others , but that dont count do it ? She really is like one of those rivers up in the mountains. A hop skip and a jump in her motion complete reluctance to slow down at times ..knowingly at times unknowingly at times knocking down little villages in its wake .. sheepishly slow when repentant , only for a while before she rushes off once more in search of a slope or a fast bend, changing course at will and without the slightest indication.The boatman cuts a sorry figure trying to keep up , he has his boat to tend to as well doesn't he .. but the river breaks off into a sudden bend ..as if cocking a snook at the boatman .. egging him on in oneupmanship.This river is what the boatman lives and dies for .. the boat is his medium .. his passengers his responsiblity.. the river .. the naughty river who wants to keep the boatman guessing in an unending game of wits .
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