- We start with a woman called the end. I call her my mirror, my muse, my soul. Her eyes are a canvas I'll paint on, her heart, the source of the ink. The gentle flow of the crystalline water moves with her hand, creating the dazzling mirage of liquid white gold; a dream only the moon could see. Her hair falls gently, a chandelier of stringed amber. The water is so calm now. It's calling her name. All her life she had comfort in this place. Which may be why she can never find happiness in someone's warm arms, or let them be the brilliant light of her life. It is because she is in love with the cold, somber water, drawing her n with words that nobody else understands. She has no time to be a dreamer anymore, she has no time at all. The harsh reality of life sets in throughout this heartless world, taking her dreams away from within this already muddy ground she stands on. She will never be the same. The water will always fight to have her, to comfort her, to embody her in it's fragile elixir. She longs for the water. In the night, its alluring white sparkle that she can't break thirst for reflects in her eyes. In all her shining beauty, she bears thoughts nobody will ever figure out. She belongs to the water that cries her name tonight.
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