When the river becomes your home, when Virginia, with stones stuffed deep in her pockets, seems more romantic than tragic, you learn two things about yourself.
First, you were born in the wrong time and second, you’ve reached the limit of what you can handle in this nightmare called life.
It doesn’t mean you won’t go on. It doesn’t mean you won’t keep putting one foot in front of the other. It just means you’ll never be the same. It means the joy of walking is lost in a tempting image of Virginia with stones stuffed deep in her pockets.