Jar by Batool Hasan

The water turns hotter and hotter, as I try to scrub off the tingling ghosts your fingertips left on me. The crinkles of your smiling eyes flash behind my eyelids. My fingertips ache to trace the lines of your warm smile.

I scrub harder.

I blink.

Your teasing eyes.

I shake my head harder.

Red skin and scorching-hot water.

Your scent peels off my skin, and rides with the vapor upwards.

The water turns so blistering it could spit out sparks. Crimson dots burst through the surface, and are washed away too soon.

Memories bleed off the walls and melt into the sizzling water, disappearing into the drain in a plethora of smeared colors.

I was not made for your kindness.

Leave a Reply