• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 12
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The water whispers through the wind to me:

You do not have to wholly believe in the goodness of things, you only have to be aware of beauty. For a hundred hours among my stony companions, you have let yourself wander, asking if it is all a colossal direction or a lucky coincidence. 

You do not have to be wholly grounded. You do not have to be heavy or light, you only have to remain. In the hundred hours you have wandered, I have heard your heart sing and break and yearn. I have heard it hope.

You do not have to be the sun or the moon, you only have to let your eyes be open. Lend your eyes to the hues of where I am contained, your ears to the noiseless sounds.

Drown for a minute.