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Treading Water.

She was swimming in it, the darkness. All around her, it was black, except for the occasional pinprick of light in the distance. Porchlights turned into glowfish, gentle, watery lights swimming in place. Treading water.1

As more time passed, as she swam further along the path, the hills on the horizon became a silhouette; light behind them was fading into her consciousness, holding her, anchoring her to a point in space. She was not as free as she had seemed.2

It was beautiful, even if it was ruining her imaginings. Everything was more breathtaking at night. The faint outline of the hills wakened an adventurous spirit within, a longing to roam and explore, to discover new things about the world and herself.3

She swam into the distance and was swallowed by the horizon.

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