Watercolours begin bright, and fade with the addition of water. Water becomes it's added complication, causing it to flood across the page, out of control and the original pattern gone. You wonder what you had decided the image was going to be, and how it ended up so completely different. You wonder how exactly when the original pattern was lost, and at what point you lost sight of the bigger picture. Now it's just mess on a page, looking relatively unsalvageable, and you're not even sure how it happened.
You look back for a moment, when you first dared to splash a bit of colour on the white paper. It hadn't intended to be colour at all, just lines and perhaps some shading over time. But it was too late, a bit of colour had fallen onto the page. Then, water was washed over it, but the colour was so little, so little depth was in it, that the smear left behind was hardly noticable. However, you decided, against your better judgement, to place some colour on again, this time with more depth, and again you added darker colours that were harder to remove, and just as the image started to take shape, you lost it. You stood and looked at it, and something got you knocking the pot of water ever so slightly, and suddenly, it was ruined. You couldn't help but try and make it better, but the more you looked at the mess you'd made, the harder it was to remove. As you stare at it now, you want to cry. You want to cry because you knew adding more colour wouldn't make it better, and you knew that, truth be told. You cry because actually, it was just perfect how it was before you added colour. It's hard not to be sad at the mess you made.
But, actually, it is not unsalvageable. You'll have to try harder, have to make an effort, maybe try new methods of saving it. The original could still be there. Underneath. It's not lost yet.