They say Sagittarius is a fire sign, and I have no clue what that is supposed to entail, and I cannot say for sure what affinity I have to fire, but I can tell you with certainty that I have a great love for water.
Warm water, fragrant with the lovely scents of cute romance, bubbling and foaming white, as the water level rises. Slowly, I let the water fill, warming my feet, the foam spreading and collecting around my ankles, while my arms tingle with anticipation, waiting for the touch of the fluid. A shiver runs through my spine, making my neck cold, waiting for the warmth to envelope me.
I pull the white curtain out, so that it won't get wet. At last, the tub is full, delightfully fragrant from half a bottle of shower gel. The surface of the water cannot be seen for the mass of thick, bubbly, unbroken foam. I lower myself gently into the water, and the warmth is exquisite, almost shockingly so.
My legs feel buoyant, as if I'm floating in a stream with a strong current in the middle of a forest. I soak my legs, letting the hot water massage them. I bend my knees, and let the water lap over my stomach. I turn over, and let my back be massaged too.
Of course, some elements of luxury are missing, like wine, cheese, chocolate, soft violin and piano music, diffuse lighting, and perhaps, for a very daring, bold mind, a lover to share it all with. All those must be supplied by imagination, which isn't a bad thing, because it instantly takes you to a plane of thought and feeling that reality takes a long time to catch up with, even with such convenient shortcuts as a stolen moment.
I can't see very well, which is why I must always have my favourite pair of rimless spectacles perched upon my nose. In my best moments, I look like a veritable geek goddess - I make no excuses for the nerdy pun; I am that kind of person and I crack that kind of joke. I spend a quiet moment contemplating my learning: where I am, where I have come from, and where I want to go next.
But the water has now lost its warmth: a sign that it is time to go. I sit up, on the floor of the tub; the new drain plug I had had shipped over has done its job well: none of the water has leaked out. I open the plug slowly, and watch while the water drains away. I stand up, dripping wet, and the foam once again surrounds my ankles; I feel like Aphrodite rising from the ocean. The last of the water flows out.
I turn on the hot shower, and the spell ends as the first drops hit my skin. It is time now, to return back to reality.
