Something captivates me about how the river flows, never being in the same place at once. It’s frustrating, almost, watching it pour from one place to another, and this bank is merely somewhere in the between. I keep watching the water pass, wondering how many times I have to see the same rolling current, as my eyes ache to follow the stream around the bend; but I am stuck on this shore, unable to continue with it to the easy ending as the river meets its end, relaxing into some sunlit horizon on the ocean. My mind wants to follow toward that peace, but my body cannot bring itself to swim with those currents.
Picking my head out of my hands, I skip a rock across the water and watch it sink, unable to follow the flow. In an attempt to move my thoughts along, the idea boomerangs back, as if the water is a restraining net even my talons cannot cut through, not the auspicious flowing liquid that I am peering at. Slouching further into the sand, I sigh. The desire to surrender is great, but if I fall asleep, the debacle will still be there when I awake. I could be out here forever, contemplating how to move on with my life.
Everyone else has moved on from the past, but why can’t I? Though I look at it from different directions, the face of it never changes; those adventures were exactly what I was looking for in my daily life, and after finally amounting to something more than the pleasurable small moments, it just felt over. I thought in the beginning that being a Toa meant making journeys only to return to my home, but after that home was moved, I feel simply misplaced. They say that one day you’ll wake up in a better place, a better time, but I wished to simply relive the happy days of this past millennia. Maybe it is so I can relive this scene again, and know the answers, just like Gali and the others did. It was all memorable, but I need to make new memories.
I wonder if I could pick myself up out of the sand and be the old Hahli; that sea maiden who believed in the virtues that incorporated themselves into daily life, not mottos that have to be forced. It could be that they are an umbrella, and they’ll reveal themselves again in time, but what if I am straining to see something that simply isn’t there? This Faxon makes me ashamed. It is a constant reminder now of unity, whereas in the good old days it was within me… I miss my old Mask of Detection sometimes- it helped me lead into what I am now, perhaps it could lead me back to what I was, and help me find what I have forgotten. I remember Jaller after the Bohrok invasion ceased, so eager to report to Vakama, but he stayed. Our unity was implied in those days, and not emphasized, not something that hindered us from beating the bad guy. Is this mask a sick joke then, that our unity is not what it was? The visor is clear, but I keep seeing all of these memories of our time on Mata Nui. To be able to put these memories away would be such sustenance. I simply want to leave this bulky, troubled figure that is myself to float away on the current, and stand tall as that Ga-Matoran once more.
How long I have been here, I do not know- not even the sun marks the passage of time on this part of the River Dormus. The water does not change, and maybe it is somehow the same water that sat in Ga-Wahi, that I swam through in the Pit. Nothing about it has changed, and it was the same face underneath different masks that swam through it each time, so why should I differ? I suppose, thinking to identify a little more with those molecules.
Or maybe I’ve been a Toa forever and nothing existed before this river, memories of being a Matoran existing only in my imagination. If they are though, and all that exists is now, then maybe I can be whoever I want to be. Glancing around, I see I sit in the shade of a tree, even though the deep shadow on the ground could just as easily be my own. I didn’t sit in nostalgia and shadows on Mata Nui- I became myself by doing, not pondering. These self restraints are nothing but an illusion then; shaking my hands of the imaginary ropes, feeling a breeze roll across them, I smile, almost like I did in the before time.
Standing, anxiousness flutters in my chest as my legs familiarize myself with the weight of the rest of myself, as if for the first time. I shake off the fuzzy feeling of sleeping limbs, and walk along a bit. My eyes follow the river as before, but though they strain to follow the flow, my feet respond, slowly walking around the bend, with the same curiosity of the eyes of a Matoran.