The Shower.
I look at the window and before my feet even move, I picture my arm slowly going to the handle. I am outside of myself and I muse the begging of the flame to the wind once it is thrust open. So, I do it. The flames never move. The oxygen locks the light in place, but then the wind comes and the shadows dance easy.
The water droplets have my seconds, minutes, and hours in them. I am ridding myself…
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