I wish I could write like water, with flowing words of blue and green. With crystal waves of phrases, like glass. With opaque rivers of metaphor coursing deep below the surface. If I could write like water you could wade out into the stream, probing with bare feet for a stable place to make meaning, grasping for balance with numb toes, fighting for leverage.
If I could write like water language would drip from my pen down the back of your neck. You’d feel its touch crawl across your skin, bringing a tickle, sending chills.
I thirst for words that soak.
If I could write down oceans then you could build a boat and cast off. You could soar through emerald waves that sparkle with the ideas of those that came before. You’d put up sails and float through my story, propelled by the winds of time, towards the tale that’s written just for you.
If I could write like water I’d deliver you to shore.
I’d wash away the stain of years.
I would ink the sky with tears, with scattered showers, rolling thunderstorms, sprinkles of life. If I could write like water I’d pour into your soul, and drown the screaming cries of doubt. Rinse the hidden shame. I’d push you towards the shelter you pretend you’re too strong for.
No parching thirst, but poetry. I could compose pools of liquid for you to shape with life.
And when urged by faith to take that step, I’ll write the sea you walk on.
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