and you're skipping stones on the lake made of your tears, sitting by the lonely mother goose who lost herself in the search for her goslings. and she's mean and vile and you're a little scared of her, but when she's lying by the lake reeds, head bowed towards the gray clouds, you can't help but feel yourself cry for the goslings she's lost. because she's a mother without children and you're a child without a place to call home.
and you could never skip stones, you just like the feeling of throwing and watching them plop with a single toss, always thinking that this will be the one that'll ripple across the water. it never happens though and you're left listening to the way the stone is engulfed by the water in a single gulp. and when the mother goose sobs in her sleep, you stroke her feathers and feel the way they're wet with your tears.
the weeping willow trees blow in the slight breeze, branches reaching out in a half hug before falling away. their leaves drip with the colors of green sorrow, grey drizzles soaking them void of daydreams. and they try to hold you, they reach towards you, always falling short of comfort. perhaps you don't deserve it or perhaps you're just not even there to begin with.
sometimes you look at the lake instead of skipping stones. gray ripples with tints of seafoam green and blue stare back at you with your marred reflection. and sometimes the lake is half full or overflowing until it's flooding the rest of the land. with weeping willows brushing the waters gently, and when it's flooding, you feel yourself sink, chained to the ground. and it's then that the mother goose awakens and bites you, she's shrieking and flapping her wings and flying away. and you're alone, drowning in nothing more than your own tears.
and you'll always be skipping stones on that lake--perhaps one day you'll finally be able to make the water ripple.