Translation:
_____
Watercolor, like me
Watercolor is lovely because
it's imperfect. A brush-full
of crimson paint bleeds on
wet paper, seeps to bended
corners, the art of gravity.
You will not last forever,
watercolor. Rain makes your
colors cry, sun exposure
fades your once-vibrant hues.
Your paper will be eaten with
tears and holes. You will join me,
my body, in the dirt. The
beauty is that together we lived. /
_____
jb
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