A jungle of weeds closes in on me.

I press on, but am I going in the right direction?

I feel water at my feet. There is hope. I long to swim in the open water; to see the full arc of the sky.

How much further?

I feel weak. But fighting the weeds is making me stronger.

One day I will reach the open water, where the weeds cannot grow.

Will I have the courage to swim? Or, like them, will I hold to the shore?

Have I, in fact, been skirting the shore all this time? Knowing the way out but too afraid to give up my fight?

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