Beneath the shower

Water glides down my back,

my skin pressed to warm, tiled stone.

The rhythm of droplets

soothes the unrest within.

Alone in this refuge,

I watch them trace the walls—

each one a fleeting mirror of my tears.

Even when my heart splinters,

even when I scream into silence,

the water gathers it all,

and carries the ache away.

It feels as though the shower grieves beside me,

rinsing sorrow from skin and soul,

lifting the weight of all I can’t name.

Sometimes, I hum my favorite songs,

letting the melody rise with the steam.

Sometimes, I imagine a beloved hand—

gentle, certain, comforting—

and in that moment,

tenderness stirs,

a rush of unspoken pleasure.

Here, under the cascade,

pain melts into heat,

grief into droplets,

and I am remade—

body, mind, spirit—

washed anew.

Droplets of renewal.