Have you ever spent much time thinking about water? Or actually sat down and really thought to yourself, what does water mean to me? Well I hadn’t. Until now.

Water to me is one thing — but I’ll come back to that.

It’s the rivers and lakes. The waterfall which tumbled down the rocks into my family pool. It’s the childhood memories of pool parties and fruit platters by the waters edge.

It’s my wake up call first thing in the morning. It’s his release after a long day at work. It brings us together for a fraction of time. It’s the moment we realised what we wanted.

It’s the soothing sound which cuts through even the toughest of souls, and the liquid that calms the rising guilt inside. It’s visible on the skin as it breaks down barriers, while rebuilding the fallen bones.

It’s a lifeline for those who fear for its end. A single drop can bring hope when all is lost. And that same drop can shatter dreams as it dries.

It’s the connection that brings laughter and retells stories of the past. Unearths traditions, and promotes sharing. It binds and mixes new and old, then washes it away.

Water to me is the ocean. Pure and simple.

It laps at the edge of my dreams, and pushes me to step further towards them. It is endless possibility and a harsh reality, rebounding off each other.

What is it to you?

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