Midnight calls to fatigue, murmurs through a clanking labyrinth.
Ever notice how a dripping tap holds more stories than you'd think?
She hummed the blues while I pondered the plumbing. Life is oddly similar,
it's a tangled dance of copper and courage, building bridges in basements.
The pipes keep secrets, perhaps of dreams deferred.
I once found a note wedged between joints, scribbled in a shaky hand: "Don't forget where you came from."
I imagined the writer plunged into metaphors, drowning in context. Meanwhile,
the water flowed, unknowing, uncluttered by choices.
Ever got stuck in thought, like a wrench trapped in a valve? It happens more
often than one might accept. Voices far away become clearer under pressure,
factual, plumb truths bubbling to surface in unexpected ways. Suddenly, it's not
just about fixing leaks, but mending the hidden fractures within oneself.
So, here we are, trying to connect broken links while avoiding tangled webs.
Maybe tomorrow the tap will cease its nightly lament, or maybe it’ll teach me
another lesson in hydrotherapy and humility.