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On a day like any other, a frog burrowed his way out of the soil where he had been resting for quite some time. He burrowed out into the world and shrieked out! He yelled as loud as he could “I feel so alone! I feel disconnected and isolated. I feel as though people in this pond want me to be alone and sad and so I buried myself in this hole, but it did nothing to help the situation. I have frogs at another pond that I can talk to, but that pond is a new pond, this is an old pond I used to live in a little bit ago. And it seems I can’t talk to anyone around. I feel like I was given a small bottle at the start of my frog hood. A bottle containing 50 relationships. Good, strong, pure, true relationships that had a finite amount of time on them, roughly 2 years. And after those 2 years the relationships would end, sometimes quietly and without even being noticed, sometimes loudly and explosively, sometimes internally hurting you in a way you wouldn’t realize until your ankles crack underneath the added weight. Of course you could double up, have more than one healthy relationship at a time, these could be simple friendships. And so I did just that. I took 45 relationships out of the bottle and started them all at the exact same time. And what a ride those 2 years were. I flew with them all around me. Spiraling. Smiling. Laughing. Kissing. Eating flies. Hopping. We grew wings and huddled together. We built nests of golden light and we slept there. Together we rested so warmly with each other. And when I awoke the 2 years had ended and the golden nest was gray, and I as I stood there trying to remember how it looked while gold all I can think of is gray. The feathers of my wings were on the mud next to me. All the other frogs formed a wonderfully straight line and walked towards me. And then one by one, they walked right through me. I tried grabbing some of them, but stopped after one looked at me funny while doing it. And so I watched them leave. I thought to call out to them, but didn’t want to be a bother and so I stayed quiet. I cried quietly so they wouldn’t hear me but wanted nothing more than for some of them to ask if I was okay knowing I wasn’t. I feel guilty for who I was, and then feel guilty for calling it was. Each time I am unable to hold the 45 frogs it makes me think I cannot hold any frog, and I shouldn’t try. There are a few frogs in fact—I learned this when I counted all the frogs I couldn’t hold—that didn’t completely faze through me. They still remain, some of the original 45. I do not know why they remain, part of me thinks I just started them a year later than the others, just give it time. Part of me thinks it’s just a malfunction, but to ride that malfunction like an eagle straight through the sun. Part of me just really misses her and believes I will never get to make her laugh again.” 

And at that point the frog realized how scary it might be if the frog in particular he was talking about heard him. And so he grew quiet and very still. Every once in a while a frog would come passed and he would remain perfectly still. And the soil began to suck him back in. And he let it. He just sat there perfectly still desperately hoping that one frog didn’t hear that part about herself. And just as his eyes were sucked into the soil he reminded himself again to make that appointment at the therapist.

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