Hope.
As i let the warm water run over my skin, I couldn't help but think of the showers we would enjoy together. Crank up the music-- usually Sublime or the Red Hot Chili Peppers-- watching each other undress, though we'd already memorized one another's bodies. I remember when we were together in your mom's house, upstairs in the bathroom, underneath the rain of wet heat and you showed me how to use a loofah. It seems trivial now, but I'd never used one. You told me to hold it in my hands as you squirted soap into a swirl pattern onto the loofah. The next step, you showed me, was lathering it up. You squished and turned it in your hands and I did the same. Just watching you. You dazed and I could tell. It was never hard for me to guess what you were thinking, yet the uncertainty always drove me crazy. By the time you snapped back, our hands were covered with foamy soap that dripped down to the shower floor. You said that you overdid it, but could you believe that now, every time I grab my loofah, I suds it up until I can relive the memory over again?
