steep (v).

eb94e09641af498d7bf1d5f7a3100b0e

I think I am melting. I can feel the glue in my bones dissolving, and things are starting to go through me, like if you were to toss a pebble toward me it might not bounce immediately off, like if you were to tell me "this must be so" it would float for quite a while without attaching itself. It is not a fading but a joining to more things, like I am not my own, this story is not my own, and I must become tender in order to adhere. I think I am melting, and let it be so, because it is less like dissipating and more like a great thaw, less like a crumbling tower and more like a river. And unlike an ocean that fights back and forth to stay ashore, a river only has one direction, joining with the soft brooks and the lustful rapids, choral with the birds and thunderous like a justice song.