Dirty little soul

I stand under a scalding hot shower until my skin turns pink. All the hair on my body has softened in the heat and my fingers resemble Grandma's before she died: small and wrinkly and pale.

If I weren't already wet, I'd be sweating in places I didn't know I had and couldn't reach even with extra hands. I should leave, save some hot water for my husband and carry on with my day, but I'm rooted to the shower floor.

The water washes away my tears and snot, all my sins and fears. The water washes the dirt from my soul, and I'm not ready to leave this safety just yet.