It’s four o’clock on a crisp is this summer or is this fall? Monday. The world is finishing up their work day, packing up briefcases, searching for jingling keys in purses and desk drawers. It’s four o’clock and I’m drawing a hot bath, trying to teach myself to slow down.
I fill the bathtub too high. I always fill it too high, too hot. My face bobs above the water. My ears listen to the rushing, gushing of the water through the overflow drain.
I sink my head into the water, cramming my body diagonally so that I’m completely submerged. I’m holding my breath, listening to the rushing, gushing of the water through the overflow drain.
Water in any form has always felt like a home. I can hold my breath for too long.
I try to open my eyes. The water is hot. It distorts my view of the shower curtain and ceiling. Nothing looks as it should from the bottom, all blurry renditions of realities.
I close my eyes again, holding my breath. My body still crammed diagonally, my ears still listening to the rushing, gushing of the water through the overflow drain.
I feel like I could sink for miles. I feel like I could stay here for days.
I surface for breath, right myself again and fight the urge to begin the ritualistic washing, conditioning, rinsing of hair.
Just stay. Here. A little longer. Just be. Still.
Why am I rushing through moments?
Why am I not slowing down?
Why am I running from rest?