Hydrophilic

There are 800ml of water in a mother's womb. Amniotic fluid that flowed and filled your lungs. It protected you and kept you warm. You were safe from the decay. But something happened. Something went terribly wrong. The world forced its way in early and washed the fluids away. Left you weak and twisted. Water is love. I've come to understand At birth you were deprived of its' full satisfaction. We are hydrophilic. I've come to understand. Our bodies ache and strive for water intake. We share fluids and connect. We sweat and kiss We make love and dream of being submerged. But we also cry. Bitter. The sun beamed And our mouths parched. We hurt and clawed our way through deserts. We have lived unhappy. Unsatisfied. Now we are afraid of breaking the bond through hydrolysis, So we remain acidic. But still I know... That I have come to love you like water. I have lived with so much urge and need. And now I am filled with it. Like the Atlantic Ocean's vastness. 82 million billion gallons Flowing and coursing through my insides and washing over me like rain. 60% of my body's existence to share with you. I love you... But there is no current... No flow connecting us both It sits within, At times crashing like waves and fighting its way... Urging for tsunamis, a storm... For rain. Why so much destruction for something so vital and so wonderful?... There are 800ml of water in a mother's womb. Amniotic fluid that flowed and filled my lungs. It protected me and kept me warm. It made me want to stay. So I stayed. Took all of it in until there was nothing left. Until my lungs found nothing to take in. But God knew of the world's mistake. And maybe He thought of you... So He didn't let me suffocate.