Initial Revenge

The water from the faucet runs too fast. I forgot to turn it off. The pail brims with unneeded water. My body needs more.

The water overflowed and went down the drain. My memory of you is still contained. It doesn't go. It doesn't inch towards the rim, towards the forgotten, drowning in the unknown.

I am distressed at the wasted water. Just like when you would tell me to stay put and act my age. I wanted to flow. I wanted to pour everything. To you. We could fill up this dry world.

But you corked the bottle.

You have always closed the valve. When the pail is full, you become the handle. Closed. Tight. Secured. Unyielding. Not a single drop escapes. Nothing stealthily falls. That is why I always thirst. I crave the stream. I become a growing desert. Something is lacking. The water is not enough. Always. You are not enough.