The Tap.

There, in the plains of my mind.

A tap.
Rusty with neglect.
Dry.

Then, a breeze.
Sweet and fresh.
As familiar as the warmest memory.
A memory of laughter and liberty, washed in sunshine.
Stroking the rough surface of the tap.

Slowly, slowly, Rust follows the Breeze.
Away, away, Rust follows the Breeze.

The Tap shivers.

Then, another breeze.
Bubbling with joy and hope.
Unlimited possibilities!

The Miracle Breeze.

The Tap shivers.
The Tap shivers.
The Tap stops.

What's that?
Is that ..
That pressure.
The familiar feeling.

It builds up.
Slowly, slowly.

The Miracle Breeze soothes.
Then silence.
It's job is done.

An explosion!

What was once dry, is now refreshed.
What was once rust, is now polished.
What was once neglected, is now nourished.