Idols.

Afraid to see the truth of what we have been worshiping, we cast down our eyes. Yet if we look up, we might find that our altar has no idols, or that the idols we put there have fallen and we behold something else shining in their place. In searching the darkness, we have found light.
Eleanor Herman in Sex With Kings

The bubble bursts into thousands of tiny shards of glass, one of them is me. I fly through the window, thrown by you into a river, in the midst of pebbles skipped by people sitting on the bank. Surrounded, I sink lower and lower, the rays of sun dull into these depths of a barren seascape. I wait, and I wait, and I wait, for a strong current, a flood, anything that will take me out to sea.
This is like nothing I ever saw, not like anything it was supposed to be underwater. I'm still breathing, I'm still conscious.
I'm still me.
I'm still waiting.

Suddenly, I want to go back to a time where I used to have regrets. Over actions, over people, over events. Now, there have been too many been-theres-and-done-thats. I used to wonder what it felt like to feel there was nothing left to lose, and now I know. It's a lonely sort of liberation, like traveling through Paris without a lover by your side. You crave because you see, not because you need. It's a passing desire, a want that aches and fades. I've got you, but in the ebb and flow of life, who knows where you'll be. Who knows where I will be, who knows where the rest of them are.

It's all gone down into a forgotten lane of memory, you'll forget me, I'll forget you. We all forget one another, what with the constant system of replacements we've cultivated for ourselves.

I wonder if this was the light I'd been looking for, if the idol was worth crashing. I wonder if I'm better off. But more than anything else, I wonder if this is what it's like to just be.