In the murky shallows, where reeds whisper secrets, I find the leech, a creature of hunger and thirst. Its body, a sinuous coil of ebony velvet, clings to the mossy rock, a parasite’s sanctuary.

I unzip my skin, release the pent-up river, and watch as the golden stream meets the leech’s hunger. It drinks, greedily, its serrated mouth latching on, a bloodhound of thirst, seeking solace in my offering.

The leech swells, engorged with my essence, its belly a crimson moon, pulsing with life. I wonder if it dreams of the rivers of old, of ancient battles fought in the veins of warriors.

Does it taste the salt of my wanderings? Does it know the sins I’ve washed away? Or is it simply a vessel, a conduit for my release, a dark sacrament offered to the gods of the marsh?

I watch as the leech detaches, sated, slithers back into the muck, a secret keeper. And I, too, retreat, my bladder emptied, knowing that within the leech, a part of me remains.

For we are both wanderers, seeking solace, both bound by our thirst, our need to consume. And in this strange communion, I find kinship, a shared hunger, a primitive dance of survival.

So here’s to the leech, that silent confessor, that blood-sworn companion in the twilight. May it thrive in the shadows, as I do, feeding on the mysteries of life, one drop at a time.


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