Damp sand speckled blank parchment as the horse galloped past her silent retreat. She had never been one of those girls to request a pony for Christmas. Well, she did ask for one when she was nine, the year all her friends did the same, but she never really wanted one. That was around the time she tried to conjure an imaginary friend, and realized she didn’t know what to do with one, once she had invented it.
He told her she had to find a way to let go, maybe write down her fears and toss them into the water to float away. No longer capable of decision, she trusted him. She sat in the sand, shiny new pen, crisp parchment, empty head. Until the riderless horse. Then she remembered, and wrote. She filled the page and carried the scrawl to the other side before folding it up into a boat. Like riding a bicycle. Cliché. More loss of meaning in her search for meaning.
She walked to the creeping cold surf and closed her eyes, wondering if she should pray, or chant or sing. She tossed the boat as far as she could, instantly wishing she had folded an airplane instead. The boat graced the water only a few meters away, and she stood on tiptoes, waiting for release. The first wave sent the boat flying into the seaweed at her feet. Inky paper unfolded, rejecting her single decision. Her fear spread before her, slowly tangling with the slimy green. She raised her head and scanned the horizon to see the horse, posed and uncertain at the end of the jetty, and she began to walk.
