in an ideal world, it would flow from me. from every aspect of me, out of my pores, as natural and as human as sweat. i could breathe it, take it in, and let it out, as a sigh escapes from between my lips. it would fall from my eyes like the teardrops that have been lamentably absent of late. it would leave little trails to remember each one by on my cheeks. it would roll down the contours of my body, and spring from that same entity, gathering in little pools at my feet. and people could step on them as they passed by, and scatter them, and dirty them with their interference. but there'd be a drop or two stuck to them... in an ideal world.