no matter how much I wash it off, it’s still there...

the weight of another day without you,

your name caught

at the back of my throat.

the water runs warm,

then cold,

then warm again,

as if it can’t decide

to comfort me or torture me.

your voice once filled this house

like sunlight through open windows.

now every room feels hollow,

as if the walls know you’re gone.

i scrub my hands

as if this pain could be rinsed away,

as if clean skin

might bring you back.

but your touch lingers

in the spaces between my fingers,

your laughter trapped

in the porcelain of the sink.

i tell myself i’ll be okay.

the mirror disagrees

its silence louder

than the water that won’t stop running.

no matter how much i wash it off, it’s still there:

the moment you left,

the air collapsing inward,

and my world,

ceasing to exist.