There are days when you realize you are water.
Not stone. Not fire. Not wind.
But water.
Flowing quietly through cracks no one noticed, finding passage where there seemed to be none. Making your way from home to city to countries, across worlds. Sometimes in gutters, sometimes in crystal glasses, sometimes pooled in muddy lands, sometimes resting against serene mountains.
Water does not resist its journey. It absorbs its surroundings, the environment, the treatment, the processing, and still moves toward its end. Serving purpose one step, one drop at a time.
Today, I feel like water.
Looking back, I see the shapes I’ve taken, the containers I’ve been poured into, the rocks I’ve curved around, the dams that held me still longer than I wished.
There were phases. Moments of sinking deep into silence. Moments of rising high, almost weightless. Times of crashing down, and times of stillness. The kind that looks calm on the surface while entire currents move underneath.
And then the heavy waves, the ones that drown you briefly only to teach you how to surface again.
No wonder water brings me calm.
Standing before a lake or sea feels like recognition, an unspoken familiarity. It is as if I am seeing myself reflected, the depth, the quiet chaos, the endless motion disguised as peace.
Still water holds a profound secret. Beneath its surface lies movement. Beneath the chaos of life lies calm. Beneath my own turbulence, there is something steady.
Rivers rushing with pressure, that relentless, roaring flow, feel like my emotions when they can no longer be contained. A release I cannot always put into words. A force that does not ask permission to move.
I am surprised I could not articulate this before. But perhaps this is what calm does. It gives language to what was once only sensation. It lets you sit long enough with yourself to recognize your own element.
When you truly begin to know who you are and what matters, you stop fighting your nature.
So yes, I think I am water.
Sometimes ferocious.
Sometimes still.
Mostly flowing, shaped by the landscapes I pass through, yet always, quietly, unmistakably myself.
