Is it something in the water?

Listen to this.


Can you feel it? An unknown, a hireling, unfamiliar lurks. I can feel it in the stars at night, I can taste it on your skin. I can see it, written in the air between us, lithographic and tangible, as heavy as our souls.
Were we ever fated to be more than the same, more than what the world, with all it's fickle promises could determine? Is there a time that questions stop...

And answers begin.
I could never say you completed any part of me. My loneliness was voluntary, my isolation preferred. As you can see, I long ago mastered the art of walking and reading, and whilst surrounding myself with the light of the ultra-real, I thus avoided the tragedy of the valley in which I sojourned.

Sojourned, yes. Because though I might have believed for a time that I was moving, onwards and upwards, the darkness did not diminish, the constellations remained the same, and the waters around me stagnated. And I thought to wait, wait in the wilderness, waiting for the cloud of smoke, the leaping fire to draw me from this dungeon.

But nothing.

I would brush against you, feeling my way through the darkness, arms outstretched to catch me if I fell, or simply graze the delicate skin on my wrists. And you, you could sit there for hours in silent remonstrance, by quarters imparting into my soul a venomous dark, that naught but the sun could remove.

So we waited.

You, for atonement of things long since forgotten, and I, for a glimmer, a whisper of something else, something more. And feeding our hearts with such vain hopes, we began to see where naught was before.
Light, in places darkness had dominion. Music in the frozen silences that grew, like stalactites, in between us, hiding each heart from view. Buried under earth, what electricity had once ran though our veins had slowly been deadened, but now, a burning would rise up, a craving, a hunger to consume the stars where they hung unchanging, an energy to leap past the bracken and the mire that had taken captive our eden. And a fire, small and distant, yet flickering and alive, of something without name, a mystery without probability, a hope amongst hopelessness. A call to arise.

Was it visible? In the distant west, did we see it, lighting up the indigo night like the northern lights do so eloquently, casting all doubt of divinity aside at such a vision? Was it the sound of water, softly falling in the dry silence of our wilderness, calling forth memories of warm summer afternoons, the sensation of cool against skin, to moisten parched lips and hearts? Or was it a feeling, rising up within each chest, filling each cavity with a boldness, a brazen confidence with no knowledgeable source? Something in the water that stirred internal passions, a desire to want something more.

But still it is unknown, unforetold and silent in its intentions, and what valleys and marshes it may lead us through to arrive are hidden from sight. All we are to know is it's unfamiliarity, it's quiet, mesmerising chant, the glimmer of cloud undispersed by dark, by night.

And if we follow it, who may tell where it may lead, though few will point to beyond the grasps of the worlds fickle fingers, and others to the depths of the unknown, where none but the bravest souls darest enter.

But this water, it gives us hope.