Dirt
Yes, my fingers are still filthy with the smell and remains of you. Yes, of you and much more. Yes, I’m dirty and no water my shower can release is going to clean me today.
It’s way too cold for me to type, but I do it because I must. Typing is the only way to prevent me from screaming. And this voice, the one I had not heard for so long, this voice is forcing me to stay here, quiet with the sound of the poor keys I’m beating up.
It’s only for tonight, it’s how it should be. And tomorrow I’ll be clean and ready and able to pretend I’m new. I’ll give the camera a perfect smile, the one I can only use when it’s fake. But you won’t know.
