I was taking a shower. I just woke up, rolled out of bed, and decided to take a shower. It was meant to be a casual shower, like every shower always had been.
While I was standing there, feeling the water drops softly punching my back, I felt a certain inspiration. I was wondering where it came from.
I looked around, and was surprised to see words written on the floor. But they were moving. They were floating on the water. Suddenly, as if I knew, I turned around and looked at the water which pounded on my back.
This water. This simple, usual water became words. Words about things, words about thoughts, and words about life. I studied those words. They moved around me, in a peaceful and relaxing way. I felt amazing.
After a while, I caught myself. I was still staring at those words. I read them, one by one. I did not realize however, that those simple, easy words were slowly taking from of sentences. They followed each other logically.
And once again, I found myself reading. This time I did not only read the words. I sat down and picked them up. I felt them, I tasted them. I played with them. I took the sentences, put them apart. Save them for later.
After minutes, which might also have been an hour, or even a few days, I still stared at these words. I started creating stories out of those meaningless sentences. I gave them a place in a way larger universe. I created stories. Stories of love, loss and desperation. Stories of life and her ways.
And one of those stories I decided to write down. The story about a boy. A young teenager who woke up one morning, rolled out of bed, and decided to take a shower. It was meant to be a casual shower, like every shower has always been.
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