untitled : 01.28.03 @ 5:45 pm

She walks, her mind lost in a tumble of thoughts and plots, weaving a quaint little story in her mind as she does meaningless tasks that will soon slip from her mind, as if she had never done them. She undresses as she goes along, her shirt and pants lost in the endless laundry cycle. Eventually she makes it to the bathroom and turns the shower with intent to wash away the day and all of its burdens.
The shower is like a lover and it wraps its arms around her, washing away the day with its pulsing flesh.
And she sits, her back against the ice cold tile, her breasts and stomach beaten with hot fists and somewhere inside of her, where the two extremes meet and collide, the eye of the storm sings its own sweet, slow melody.
She closes her eyes
and is at peace.

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