The river wasn’t just water,
it was the pulse under our feet,
the heartbeat of a village stitched from memory and sunlight.
We knew its bends the way we knew each other’s laughter,
each rock worn smooth by the weight of our stories.
fnj
The river wasn’t just water,
it was the pulse under our feet,
the heartbeat of a village stitched from memory and sunlight.
We knew its bends the way we knew each other’s laughter,
each rock worn smooth by the weight of our stories.
fnj
