And life, well, life just is. It's there. There's no metaphor, there's no motif. There's life. On some days, it means love. It means being sung to sleep and then waking up, sweaty, smiling. And on other days, it means loss. It means that there's no way I can get out of the shower until I see all the water drain from the tub. It means knowing that I could theoretically go get that water -- that it's possible, that it still exists in a sewer, in a lake, in a cloud, in someone else's body or fishbowl -- but that realistically, I can't. And I shouldn't. The water just passes over me, cleans me, nourishes me, drowns out everything else for me, sits in the wrinkles of my fingers and the corners of the tub, and then drains and dries and flows away.
