Shower

I sit or lie in the shower rather than stand. It’s because I like to feel the water hit my stomach as I lie down, and I also like to sit up and feel the water drench my face as I hug my knees. It’s like a warm embrace, standing up is often too much effort when you can simply sit. Everything is too much effort when you can simply sit.
Everything outside the shower is covered in steam, so it’s no longer clear enough to think about. I like to hold my hands against my face as the water spills over, and with the door locked I know no one can be witness to my oddities. For alone nothing is odd, it’s personal.

Though didn’t that kid die in the film IT while showering?

The shower washes away my anxiety, and when the lights are off the process almost feels like the physical expression of what a good dream feels like. Though sometimes I see the window cleaner watching me through the frosted glass. Or at least, I think its the window cleaner. The good dream is distorted.

But the water doesn’t stay warm for long, as things cool down, a sensation that you’re back in reality is noticed. Standing once more, I just watch the water drip from my body. Each drip contains an essence of my peace. And so the feeling of anxiety creeps back in as I dry my hair. And sometimes I catch a shadow peeping out through the gap in the door.
I look in the mirror to see my expression, but all I see is steam.

 

It ,the drain, the wrinkles, the window, the door gap under

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