Geography in Creative Things

Some days I am the coastline, the cliff.
Sometimes it’s the waves crashing over me time and time again, the coming and the going of the tide, the endless pressure that forces itself into all the small cracks that finally causes me to give way. I fall apart, I crumble even though I am made of rock. I am a one woman landslide. I’ll take you out with me given half a chance.
Sometimes it’s more gradual.
I am carried off one grain of sand at a time, washed out to some abyss. I disappear piece by piece by piece. I wane and hollow and grey at the edges.
It isn’t always linear, It’s seldom simple. It’s often the trickle that fills the river that causes the flood when the river bursts its banks. And I have many skills, but I haven’t mastered breathing under water and treading water makes me tired.
I don’t want to hear simplified solutions to complicated problems. I want for you to understand in the same way that I am taken out I can only be recovered and rebuilt one piece at a time. Sometimes a tiny grain at a time. I advance, I recede, I have no constants. I cannot be static.