As a Whistle

Love is a dirty business. The lack of love even dirtier. You can scrub and sing all day until your skin is as red as a valentine. But they will never return. This same body that moved them to tears, this same body that warmed them… is now frozen inside a song. Maybe you refuse to wipe the steam from the mirror and just let it dissipate on its own. Give yourself time to prepare a face as the mirror slowly develops like an old instant polaroid. Quickly comb your hair. Brush your teeth. Get dressed. Then as you adjust your smile and you come into focus… you notice that you’re still humming. Is there anything sadder than finding that lover’s hair in the tub… curled into an indecipherable answer?