She is falling today. She hits the water and it underestimates her strength found only in velocity and mathematical inconsistencies.
The water cannot weep, so instead it dances around her skin, around her bones and most importantly becomes her.
In death we have become equal. That day has not yet come. In life we wonder without consequence. Your passion becomes me. I use it only to find more about nothing. My version is dry and afraid, so lost in my need to have passion, I rinse lather and repeat my interests. My heart is unnatural, what could lie beneath this desperate need to have companionship? What could lie beneath the pretense.