Thirty minutes’ worth of water polishes me like a stone; soon all my edges will be smoothed. I am a wonder of wishes and physics. You could pick me up, kiss and skip me across water.
But I am allowed to slow down. I am allowed to dance and spin and take the time to breathe, angle my body and scan my reflection in the water before I break the surface tension.
The experts know. It’s a simple twenty degrees—not a difference of speed—between sinking and skipping.
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