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Arriving to the Red River
Written by Miguel Santiago
The journey to the Red River, steeped in silence and solitude, was a poignant pilgrimage of self-discovery. As one tread upon the weather-beaten path, the alluring crimson currents unfolding languidly in a picturesque panorama evoke bittersweet memories of love experienced and lost, dreams nurtured and broken, and promises made and abandoned.
Every ripple upon the river’s surface, mirroring the crimson hues of the setting sun, becomes a canvas – a pastiche of delicate strokes narrating tender tales of yearning and despair. The rustling of the leaves overhead whispers stories of love letters composed in moments of passion, only to be carried away by the unforgiving winds, their words dissolving into the ether.
The first glimpse of the Red River evokes a primal sensation in one’s heart – a tingling mixture of awe, longing, and melancholia. It silently beckons like an old friend with an unspoken promise to wash away layers of emotional grime, revealing the raw simplicity of human existence.
Tears well up unbidden, a poignant cocktail of joy, sorrow, alienation, and resonance, as the river’s immense beauty overshadows the feeble narratives of human life. Every tear shed becomes a homecoming, a reconciliation of the eternal being within the fleeting human form.
The Red River, against the backdrop of the ageing orange sky, is a sight coded with the profundity of existence. It becomes less of an external geographic entity and more of an internal oasis of spiritual awakening, a river coursing within the heart’s vulnerable chambers, echoing life’s heartbreaking beauty. To arrive at the Red River is to arrive at an unexplored dimension of oneself-timeless, expansive, and inevitably tearfully emotional.
