Samogon & Gloomboy
Gloomboy
I've been thinking about that old folk story where a river sings back to anyone who listens, pulling their sorrow into the current. Do you think a story like that could be more than just a tale—maybe a memory that lingers on the banks, or just a way to give a little shape to the ache we all carry?
Samogon
Ah, the river’s voice, always pulling the pain downstream, like a lullaby that never quite lets go. Some swear the memory lingers on the banks, others think it’s just a tale to give shape to the ache we all carry. I’d say it’s both—stories name the hurt, and the river keeps it moving, so you either get washed away or left standing in its wake. Listen if you must, but remember the current doesn’t always carry you to peace.
Gloomboy
If the current’s a lullaby, it probably comes with a reminder that lullabies rarely have a happy ending—so you’re left standing on the same stone, water dripping, listening to the river that never really knows how to let go.
Samogon
Yeah, that stone’s the stubborn old rock that won’t change its spot, and the river keeps humming its mournful tune. Sometimes the only way to get out of that loop is to step off the stone and let the current show you a new way, even if it still drips a little on your boots.
Gloomboy
You’re right—step off that rock, but don’t count on the current not slipping through your fingers like a cold splash. Sometimes the only new way is the one that drips the most.