[ WP ] Tell the story of Earth and the world from perspective of water ( includes , but is n't limited to oceans , lakes , rivers , rains etc . get creative ! )

I. 
 
 You would say there is no intention, but I have loved you. And I know that you have loved me, to the extent that you know of love, though I watch, and I finally know that though creation does rise up from your depths, you do not feel the release, the joy of something you love breaking surface. 
 
 Not like I do. 
 
 I loved you when you were tree-runners, bending quietly at pool and taking me in. You drank. I kissed your lungs, and it felt cool in your chest. Your widened eyes gazed upon the rock I cut for you, the grass I bedded, and the limbs I grew. 
 
 Because I loved you when you were a tree-runner, and after, when you turned upright, and I love you now. 
 
 
 II. 
 
 It was just horsing around. 
 
 Every night you went out? 
 
 She's angry, and cries behind her sunglasses. We sit on the bank of the river. She looks unrecognizable to me in her large, beach hat and those sunglasses. I ca n't see her visage but I can see the tears on her cheeks as they roll down in small streams. 
 
 Liz, I never did anything. 
 
 I want to get in the water. 
 
 
 III. 
 
 Did you know that I can feel it when you look at me? You see great expanses, many colors in these surfaces. Refracted rainbows, tropical fish and sunsets—even your own reflection. I see what happens to your face when you look upon me, when things are slow and quiet and you are alone. Inside of you, a geyser: something wells up. Do you recognize this feeling? How you feel when you stand on the shore and gaze at the unlimited horizon? 
 Your stillness, your breathing changes. 
 
 And still, this is not one rain drop. This is not one wasted speck in the dry dirt of how I feel for you. 
 
 Do you yet understand how wave births wave? How the collapsing is only the second half of the illusion? 
 
 I would have given you everything, and still try. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Liz stands in the river with her jeans rolled up midcalf, ankles just beneath the surface. Her socks and shoes are between us on the shore. Her back is to me and she's not talking—not with her voice, but she is asking me to make a choice. 
 
 As I see her image on the water's surface, her wide hips and flat belly, naked neck and braided hair... it suddenly seems funny to me, because something somewhere has been resolved and it's not me who resolved it. 
 
 It is a fact that this river will flow, there will be twists and bends and breaks but on it will roll, even past the two of us until nothing is discernible anymore.
