She never believed in a different river.  This water, as the property of the mass, was the same river as yesterday, the same molecules.  At which angle she approached was the only variant, but since the river was the same that didn’t matter.  It was still wet. 

She swam upstream but it may have been downstream.  She went where the current took her.  She stepped out and in again.  At times she felt she was the river but at times they fought and she never felt as removed.  Her own matter was an elusiveness, even to her.