If Water Had a Daughter...

Image from Nature Harmony

If water had a daughter, would she flow through the cracks of a broken heart and seal open wounds with her pristine sealants? Would she wash away the salty tears that dry up on the visage--bringing life to one's spirit and carefully replenishing tear ducts like oases in the dearth of desert sand storms?

If water had a daughter, would she saturate every lysed cell with vitality, and seep through vessels, as oxygen diffuses through space in search of breaths to be inhaled--would she drown our beings in love and security, and resurface on the epidermis as beads of nourishment permeating into existence, the way the dew drops appear on springy blades of grass in search of new heights?

I do not know if water has a daughter, for I have not encountered her, and yet, I know that if water had a daughter, she would grow with me--I would wade inside of her and she would carry me without any judgments--no preconceived notions--and she would hold my hand with a certainty that dissipates all doubt--the mindless chatter that is self-doubt. I do not know water's daughter, but if water had a daughter, she would befriend me, from foam to wave. I would surf her peaks as she led me to her own mother at the ends of the earth--we would reach new horizons where her mother's belly meets the blissful tranquility of the sky, and we would reach new destinies.