“A spill is not a stain. It is a haiku.”
The 2019 Cloudburst
A rooftop leak left a 40 cm bloom on the dining-room oak. Ten years later, it’s a soft gray map of that July storm.
The Tea Ceremony
A dropped matcha bowl in 2033 will darken to umber by 2040. The imperfection becomes intention.
The Child’s Masterpiece
Grape juice + sunlight = lavender veins. Label it: “Age 4 – First Art Show.”
The Final Refinish
Sand lightly in 2060. The ghost of every spill remains—faint, proud, eternal.
Write with water. Share your floor’s poetry →
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