You wanted a painting to feel to the brim: cracks sandpapered shut, holding perfect pebble drops that smacked and stretched to form you. What you wanted, was to be the glass, full, and clear, and not the parched throat, stretched towards it. But you are more sky than glass. With dribbling blood and sighing lungs, always on the move. You are the basin spilling at the foot of the waterfall. You are the water pulsing drop by drop through the pool. At once, you are flatlining and also falling. You are drop, and you are river, and you are the bowl of water and the leaf floating atop. You are rushing always towards tomorrow. Never quite full, but always filling up. Not quite full, but always more than enough.
Especially loved these lines:
“What you wanted,
was to be the glass, full,
and clear, and not the parched
throat, stretched towards it.”
Thanks, James!