when I forgot to drink more water.
Forgive me, please?
I promise to do better.
I'm sorry, muscles.
Tight and bunched and
filled with sludge because
I need to drink more water.
There's no excuse; it's free!
I have to make it
a priority or I'll be sore -
you'll scream at me until
I get the message loud
and clear, okay already!
I am sorry, blood.
You work so hard but
even you can't operate at
peak efficiency unless
I keep you liquid. It's
not personal (I mean, it's
that and so much more).
I know
I must
have water,
but
I don't always remember.
I don't always think about it.
I don't always stop what
I am doing and go pour
a glass and drink it down,
so simple when you put
it down on paper.
Which reminds me.
Brain? You there?
I'm sorry.
Dehydration isn't kind.
You try your best, but
it is all my fault when you
slow down, get depressed,
when what you want
and need, demanding
it as well you should,
is water.
Water, purely, neither
acid nor a base, but
what my body craves.
What, in fact, each body
craves, no matter what
the color of the skin or
how expensive are the
clothes upon it.
Water.
And we operate with
self-destructive
dryness when the answer
is as close as that.
A metaphor.
And yet, also the truth.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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