Thirst is one thing.
Thirst is wanting to know the next page of the story, practically ripping at the pages for the next twist. Thirst is waiting for you to come home to hear all about your day, as I tip the glass back just that much farther t(more)o see if any lost drops of far-too-sour, far-too-sweet lemonade can find their way into my mouth because it's so hot I don't care. Thirst is opening my email and waiting to recieve yours because I know you always say hello at lunch. Thirst is playing in the forest as a child, the two of us engaged in a very serious (winner gets the last cookie, so the stakes are high) game of hide and seek, and then needing to find our way home, ravenous and ready to feast on cookies and sandwiches.
But this? I have a perpetually empty inbox. There is a yellow tinge on those memories that makes it so that I know they will never come to pass again because you're gone. I know with painful certainty that there will never be another fight for the last piece-and-some-crumbs of pie because that was the final twist.
I'm facing complete dehydration .(less)
Beauty without a soul behind it just dehydrates itself.
Knowledge with arrogance just dehydrates itself.
Talent without passion just dehydrates itself.
Want without motivation just dehydrates itself.
Peace with ignorance just dehydrates itself.
(more) A beating heart without a lively soul just dehydrates itself.(less)