There Are Kinds of Water
It all started with my grandmother losing her mind.
Act I
Thursday
It all started with my grandmother losing her mind.
She sat on the porch, screaming and crying for no apparent reason. I put down my fork. Not long after, my aunt arrived. My grandmother was sobbing uncontrollably.
“Something bad is happening.”
My aunt patted her shoulders.
“Everything’s all right, everything’s all right.”
I recognized that tone. She’d been speaking to me that softly ever since I broke my leg.
I looked at the gray sky, the wind. I looked at all those little wooden houses, their walls turning gray with decay, the dry meadow.
Why had I even come back here?
Friday
My mother snatched the book from my hands and threw it aside.
“Enough,” she said. “Reading is killing you.”
She glared at me.
“Do you realize how much weight you’ve lost?”
I avoided her eyes.
“It’s not my fault the weather’s this awful.”
She took a deep breath and sank into the armchair.
“Go outside for a bit,” she said.
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off.
“If you don’t walk, you’ll forget you have a leg.”
With one sharp movement, I knocked over the crutches. They fell against my legs like a stretched rubber band, sending a sharp pain through me.
I gripped them tightly and planted them firmly on the ground. I didn’t even turn around. I just stumbled forward.
I held my breath.
Who would’ve thought a three-step staircase could be so damn annoying?
I walked through the gray until the crutches started digging into my armpits.
I saw it just as I was regretting not bringing my scarf.
Ice blue against all that gray.
The river.
Maybe if I dive into this river five times a day
my sins will be washed away.
Saturday
It was quite early in the morning. The sun was blinding me.
“I’m going to ask you to do something cruel,” my aunt said, handing me a paper bag.
I slowly opened it.
A clump of hair that looked like a wig was visible inside.
My aunt lowered her voice.
“Dennis found it by the side of the road.”
I adjusted my crutches, straightened my back, and didn’t stop until I found the blue in the middle of all that gray.
I knelt by the riverbank. The pebbles dug into my knees. The crutches gleamed in the pale sunlight.
I clenched my jaw so tightly that my teeth began to ache.
“Goodbye, Fluffy,” I said, my voice trembling.
The paper bag fell.
The ice shattered.
Fluffy disappeared into the crackling sound.
Act II
There are kinds of water.
Some waters give you life,
while others take it away.
Thinking of you, for example.
You used to be my
Tender water.
I was starting to love
“us.”
I was loving that word
for the first time.
It almost sounded
“magical.”
There is no “us” anymore.
There is no bridge over this river.
There is only an “I.”
I am just a stick.
Now I’ll try to live my best stick life.
How excited a stick must be
to wake up in the morning.
It must have finally found its ikigai.
What is life, anyway?
And if you think I’m a pervert,
why do you stay?
Do you see
how people keep calling me “Angel”?
Just because it’s my name.
Who gave me this name?
I will never grow wings.
I will never be sinless.
Don’t you ever say
that you love me
with my sins.
I want to be nameless.
The more I sigh,
the more trouble I get into.
The more I love,
the worse it gets.
The more the stars shine,
the more I fade.
The more I love you,
the more of a pervert
I become.
What is a pervert, anyway?
Now the river water
makes my legs go numb.
How do I prove that I’m real?
How do I prove
that I’m not into girls?
Maybe I could make a list
of all the boys I’ve had crushes on.
I loved [ ]
because he gave me a comb.
I was five.
I loved [ ]
because his grades were better than mine.
I was twelve.
I loved [ ]
because he never loved me.
I was sixteen.
Does that count as love?
Oh, and I loved a girl, too.
She was my teacher.
What if I do?
Do you really think I give a damn what I do?
Now all of this
sends waves of anxiety
through me.
How dare you think that
it’s...
Pale water washes
my anxieties away.
There are different kinds of water.
Tender water, for example.
Tender water
kisses your face every morning.
And I—
I envy the water.
I envy the water.
I hate the water.
Water kills me.
How dare you think
it’s romantic?
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Act III
Now the air is unleashing all its fury on me.
My stomach churns as I watch the gray clouds swirling overhead. I think I can hear strange whistling sounds.
The river.
The river has never been this turbulent.
Now they’re all shouting, “Angel!”
Only an angel could handle them.
The pebbles are forming new shapes on my back. I’m sure of it now.
How long have I been lying here?
Is someone really calling my name?
I slowly push myself up.
“Look behind you.”
I can see the little shadow within the shadow.
Yes.
Whose curly hair looks golden even in the grayest light?
“Dennis! Stay away from here! Can’t you see the river?”
He keeps shouting in his thin voice.
I shout back.
“I can’t hear you, Dennis!”
“Damn it, get out of here!”
I watch his tiny body hesitantly trying to come closer.
He sees what I see.
The next wave rises higher than him.
Dennis looks at me one last time and runs away.
I throw myself back onto the ground.
“What do you want from me?” I grumble.
“I’m just living my best stick life.”
I close my eyes as the river slaps me.
When the water recedes, it takes the sharpest part of my mind with it.
I open my aching eyes.
My crutches are floating several meters away.
I push the hair out of my mouth.
How frustrating that I still can’t move my little finger.
If I could, I would’ve escaped by now.
Another wave fills my mouth.
“Oh, my tooth.”
Was what I just spat out a stone—
or my own tooth?
Come and save me now, Violet.
I challenge you.
You were afraid I was obsessed with you.
Now who knows...
Where are you?
I cough and fold my arms.
Do I really have to die
because the water wants me to?
Do I really have to die
because the laws of physics exist?
Do you really think I give a damn what I do?
Is it still romantic if I die?
Does that make me a pervert?
There are different kinds of water.
Lustful water, for example.
It’s not a boy.
It’s not a girl.
And yet—
it takes my whole body.
Kinds of Water
There are kinds of water.
Tender water, for example.
Tender water
kisses your face every morning.
And I—
envy the water.
Oh, lovely jelly.
It’s just a broken fountain,
but it sounds like heaven to you.
“I can’t help but touch it.”
Madwater keeps running down the hills.
Palewater washes over your skin.
Sadwater pours into your shoulders.
They thought I would forget.
But I—
“Yes,” you’ll say.
“Typical you.”
“You shouldn’t start with dialogue.”
I shrug.
“Dialogue loves it.”
You drink water.
I drink it too.
And when you sleep,
I sleep too.
Your blood is my blood.
Your love is my love.
It’s inside my veins.
I dip my head into the water.
I see the fish.
I see the mermaid.
Even when I drink the water,
I can’t control it.
It slips through my fingers.
I kiss the water.
It is untouchable.
People think I forget.
It’s just camouflage.
I sabotage.
I sabotage myself because
You keep loving me this much.
Water is the only liquid whose taste changes with its temperature.
Water is the cure for everything.
Some people think it’s water.
Some people think it’s me.
Because if it isn’t about you,
I can’t write poetry.
I envy you.
I envy you all.
You normal people—
How do you love
without getting obsessed?
Some boys will bring you flowers.
Some boys are too poor for that.
I’m not a boy.
I don’t have flowers.
So why get obsessed?
How could I not get obsessed
when you are my—
Nature lover.
Problem solver.
My poet.
My painter.
Lover of fruit.
Lover of the moon.
Empath.
Thoughtful.
Catcher of dandelions.
How on earth will I find my person?
Moon or stars?
You love the word “magical.”
You find strange things beautiful.
You collect little mysteries.
You worry about things no one else notices.
You carry your own little universe.
You love beautiful things.
How do I forget?
Why do I remember?
Because—
there are kinds of water.
One of them is you.
Water Will Swallow You
Everything is romantic if you romanticize
hard enough.
You keep falling in love.
Again and again.
Until the water swallows you.
You'll be one of those flying fish.
There is death in the sky.
There is death in the ocean.
You will be caught between heaven and hell.
Your wings will be torn.
And you will say—
I’m not an angel anymore.
