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Just Water あ


I figure, if I constantly attempt to create beauty; Rainbows; Prisms of hope emanating from all that I do: That is my ambition. Sometimes I feel color in my voice. Sweet like nectar. Milky, decadent.
My (written) words; frozen in motion, are swirling and surging with luminous hues. At times, i fight without why's, and they stretch and strain my every orifice;- Compelled to emerge.
Other times, color comes as my compulsion. I *need* dirty hands.- covered in sky, tattooed by earth, wielding the fire of passion, driven to profound depths of darkness, and tantalizing mystery.
Often, I am transparent. Grey-scale if I’m lucky enough. I’m nothing. Static.

Cling to me.
--
I put fresh water into a blue glass bottle, then prayed for God to bless it. I labeled it, "Just Water". I found this clever and hysterical.- "Just", as a conjugate of, "Justice", or, "justified". I am not qualified to bless water, so it's just water, and, you know what? It's just right.

I was a river in my past life.

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