I'm boring.

Yes, I'm boring.

I know this very well. I'm not good at all when it comes to entertaining or keeping a conversation going. For some reason, I'm even more boring with you.

First I am a steady stream of spring water coming out of the small pipe splashing the rocks beneath me, giving them a refreshing coat of joy.

Then the water runs dry.

It stills around the once damp rocks, allowing the sun to shine down on the tops and dry while the soft mud cracks.

But it is not completely dry, for the rocks have the refreshing moisture still underneath.

That is the thing...

The more lively part of me when I speak to you is hiding underneath this dry persona that is too heavy to move.

Be patient, my love, for I will try to be more enjoyable and quench the attention you need me to give.

The water will run through the pipe again, drown the burden rocks, and I will be set free out of the trap of irrational restriction to the things I say, act, or feel.

For now, will you at least help me lift?

- K.S