the flow of words

 

The usual scrambling of bags

and glass

could be heard just outside

the bathroom walls,

As I take adventures

on dew drops

at the sides of a bucket

and the unwavering reflection of light

on water

I sat

as my toes began to tingle

and under my nose began to sweat

The familiarity of the bathroom

was known as my face gazed

down the disturbed waters,

The momentum of silence

seemed to be as loud

as the presence of wet floors

and my wet feet.

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