cascade

I close the door and wait until it clicks. Put both hands on the side of the sink and turn on the light with nimble fingers, head facing the ground, tears still falling down my cheeks. I slowly bring my head up to look at myself in the mirror. I find myself immediately picking out every imperfection that I can possibly see with myself, but why? Why am I pointing out things that I have little to no control of? Why am I putting all this negativity on myself? So I stop. I smudge the tears away and hold my head up high. I scan back over my body. Content with my being. I strip off my clothes from the night before and turn the metal knob that causes a stream of water to burst from the shower head. I step on the cold porcelain and feel the cascade of scalding water running down my body and pooling at my feet. I close my eyes, inch closer into the water, and let the tiny droplets pour onto my face. I feel at ease. Tranquility. At this moment, I don't think. I feel. I'm alive. I am alive and I am present. Nothing else matters but that. For now, I remind myself that everything will eventually be okay. And for the first time in months, I smile with happiness. I know I will be okay.