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I move, rush down the currents, possibilities and opportunities. Embrace the spaces: the energy, movement, the ebb and flow. I shift, transform, and reflect. I was ice; I am water.

I am motion. I am lukewarm lake and restless river; I grow, take form, take shape. Feel free: to do, to think, to be. 

Then the dam.

Callused, bruised, unthoughtful.

It limits. It gauges: untold stories, locked cages. It’s limit.

Water waits for the dam’s door to open. But it’s only jam. Jammed, stuck, crammed with possibility, yet still the doubt. It cries and sobs to get out. To go, to flow again. 

Surrounded by doors, portals and opportunities and risks and dares and dreams, it dreams. Without freeze, it should flow, but it’s stagnant, stuck, weighted. 

Its wishes— its weightlessness—but dream. 

Until lightning

strikes, and water meets light, and transforms into steam. 

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