All night long, I remember, how excitedly and truthfully, the heart of yours would stream the moist words into the parched heart of mine.

I remember, how carefully you would water my vessel, and I wonder why not even a single drop of your words spilled over it; perhaps, I was a thirsty pot and you were an overflowing can.

Yet, you are a beautiful can of water, dear. One by one, hundreds of vessels might have passed by your spout, and the evil of me wants to laugh at each of them for their incapability to pray for your divine words and for some’s lunacy to abandon your spirit.

I was a lucky vessel.

But I wonder if I made you one, because, our textures, framework or design do not resemble, for the beauty of yours is unmatchable; but I promise to contain all that you have in you, and archive them in the most beautiful place they deserve to be, one day.

Until then, I hope you spout, your words to not turn away from the mouth of my vessel, my ear.

Until then, Thank You!