A cooling winter night, the high humidity content heavy on my heart. I imagine walking down a narrow mossy street. The fog will part for me. The water molecules will bow their crooked heads. I was born to be the mistress of water, and water is what I am, flexible, changing, and volatile. Under fluorescent lights water curls in steam off my skin, collects in tiny beads like a crown across my hair. Red and gold fish swim through my capillaries and flash their tails across my irises. I will hold the world together and I will tear it apart. Somewhere far away from here, millions of gallons of water vapor float quietly across the face of the universe.