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Tap water

I let the tap water run through my toes. The cold water soothes me, the hot, burns my feet. Sometimes, the tap runs black water. I love looking at it. The way out flows, makes the bathroom floor black beyond vision. Black and void like the space. Sometimes I play with the black water, grab it in my hands and then let go and watch the black water streaming towards the drain in thin lines like the lines He prophesied and engraved on all of our palms. I watch it as the river of black slowly spreads on the floor- immersing it in its affection.

At times I throw a handful of water at the ceiling. The ceiling recoils, at reflex, and then tears down on me. Not just the bathroom, courtesy to my escapades, the tap water immerses me too... in thoughts indecipherable, in worlds beyond my limits. I delve into imaginations that care not for the flowing hours, the non productive ness or the  lostness of no reason.

Somewhere, probably just unique to my imaginations, the tap water and life runs parallel.
Baffling ambiguity.

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