Sorrow sits in the bathroom.Where the floor is cold, the water runs endlessly, and the musty air makes it the perfect place to be alone.Strangely, it's where I've cried the most.
At first, I thought it was just coincidence.But looking back, the climax of every sorrow always seemed to happen there.The sound of the shower masked my sobs.The mirror showed my red, swollen eyes as I whispered, "You'll be okay."Sorrow likes spaces like that.
The bathroom is the smallest room in the house, but it holds the most honest emotions.It's where I undress, remove my makeup, and drop the tone of my voice.And that's when sorrow always speaks."You don't have to pretend you're okay right now."
Shampoo stings my eyes.The heat of the water doesn't reach the ache in my chest.I turn the faucet on and off again and again,As if I could rinse the sorrow away.
Time moves slowly in the bathroom.That slowness suits sorrow perfectly.It's too soon to leave.Too raw to talk to anyone.So sorrow sits in the corner, quietly watching me.Silent, but undeniably present.
I've decided not to look away.Because sorrow showing up means I'm still capable of feeling.And tonight, in the dark, I sit with it again.Grateful that there's a place where I'm allowed to cry.For now, I share the room with sorrow.