she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”
For a long time I hated the idea of home. For me it meant… where I grew up, where I wasn’t wanted. But the thing is, the last few months I’ve realized that… home isn’t really a place at all. It’s more like… the people I wanna be with.
It’s worth noting that the reason the beaver wants the water to be deeper in the first place is that the Beaver is using the deep water as a pantry:
All summer and fall, beavers gather up branches with the leaves they actually eat, and store it in the deep end of the Pond, where the cold water and limited oxygen keep the leaves fresh all winter, so when it’s negative 20 outside, a beaver can take a dip out of it’s lodge, grab some refrigerated leaves in the (relatively) warmer water and go back to it’s cozy little nap hole while everything else is out there suffering and eating bark or the like.
So it’s less “there’s a leak in my house” and more “OH SHIT THE FRIDGE!!”
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