It didn't look the way I thought it would. I looked like it did in the movies, the old ones from the 70s. there was a thickness to it, some globular vicsocity. It was a color I was certain wasn't found in nature. No berry, flower, tree, or shrub, no feather or skin or scale. It flowed, exponentially. I knew that at some point it must run out, that the rate in which it was lost would overcome the rate in which it multiplied. I knew that there was nothing I could do, nothing that anyone could do, nothing that could be done. There is something in rcognizing a tragedy and letting go. There is a picture to be painted.
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