She awoke from a dream about skeletons. As she came to, she toyed with the idea of taking a bath, imagining candles and music and a glass of wine, lying naked in bubble-less water. But she couldn't find a plug for the tub, or bubbles. And so she stood, melting under the hot water of the shower. As much as she fought it, days like these seemed to be waterproof. Water could wash away work and treadmills and tears, but not this. Whatever this was. A cup of tea and some incense would have to suffice, she thought. Her glasses steamed up with every sip as she stared at her phone on the nightstand. There was a reason she didn't turn it off at night, or ever. He loved her, she knew that. He had told her to her face and with his eyes open at her eyes and she believed him. So, she never allowed herself to miss an opportunity to hear those words over again. As such, she left it as it was. And she hoped this connection to another day and time, this endurance of distance and that which does not wash away might someday again soon awake her from dreams about skeletons.

empty is a feeling
i'm getting used to
i sit and stare at empty couches
slide inside my empty bed
and reach for empty cups
and I know how they feel.