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And I like it better than the whole song.
When I'm in the shower and the cold water cuts out, and it gets really hot, I never get out of the way. I just stand in the burning stream of water and tell myself that I'm Daenerys Targaryen, giving birth to dragons. Sometimes I'll turn off the hot water all the way and stand in the freezing fall of water and dance and draw pictures on the shower wall with a fingertip, because I want to know that I'm unique in the world right at that moment--the only living person who's dancing in a shower of freezing water of her own volition, drawing spirals in water bubbles on the wall.
If there's someone else doing that, I don't want to know about it.
Sometimes I hug myself tightly in the shower and pretend I'm a mountain with a waterfall, and then I wonder if mountains feel as protective of their waterfalls as I feel about mine. Then I wonder if whoever I marry will want to hear about my waterfall, or about any of the million little things that make me feel deeply, and suddenly, and violently. Like half of a cracker left in a bush, or traffic lights changing in the middle of the night when nobody's around, or three bars of a song, or certain colours of sky. Or the way dead grass smells on a fantastic day. Or about one freckle on their neck, or one potted plant in the corner of a room.
About one little finger twitch from an arm slung lazily about my waist that wasn't even intentional.
I don't even know. I'm deeply in love with everything, and when little things happen, I feel like it loves me back.
When I'm in the shower and the cold water cuts out, and it gets really hot, I never get out of the way. I just stand in the burning stream of water and tell myself that I'm Daenerys Targaryen, giving birth to dragons. Sometimes I'll turn off the hot water all the way and stand in the freezing fall of water and dance and draw pictures on the shower wall with a fingertip, because I want to know that I'm unique in the world right at that moment--the only living person who's dancing in a shower of freezing water of her own volition, drawing spirals in water bubbles on the wall.
If there's someone else doing that, I don't want to know about it.
Sometimes I hug myself tightly in the shower and pretend I'm a mountain with a waterfall, and then I wonder if mountains feel as protective of their waterfalls as I feel about mine. Then I wonder if whoever I marry will want to hear about my waterfall, or about any of the million little things that make me feel deeply, and suddenly, and violently. Like half of a cracker left in a bush, or traffic lights changing in the middle of the night when nobody's around, or three bars of a song, or certain colours of sky. Or the way dead grass smells on a fantastic day. Or about one freckle on their neck, or one potted plant in the corner of a room.
About one little finger twitch from an arm slung lazily about my waist that wasn't even intentional.
I don't even know. I'm deeply in love with everything, and when little things happen, I feel like it loves me back.
