Exhalation

You’re standing in the shower. You didn’t turn the fan on and it’s all foggy in the glass cubicle, you can barely see your feet through the steam. All has turned to shit. You’re silent and naked and still. The water is hot and your skin is red. You turn the water faster. It’s pounding. You want to feel alive. But what is that? You think you’re feeling alive and hopeful and like there is meaning and purpose, and then the guy you really liked never messages you back and the editor of the magazine said your story was too didactic, and you’re like, well, why shouldn’t it be, why is having morals and consequences a bad thing? Because that’s surely how it is. You’re standing in the shower and you press your hand to the glass and try and leave a handprint, but there’s too much water, it all just dribbles down. You’re crying in the shower. Sure as hell you don’t want to be that person who sees the grass to be greener on the other side, because fuck, you’re lucky to be where you are. And you believe in things, of course you do. You believe in them with all your might. Like dark chocolate, and world peace, and dogs. But what is all of that? What is this? Life? Every morning you wake up and brush your teeth, eat breakfast, you go to school or university or work, everyday, forever. And that’s it, that’s all it is. Twenty years will go by and you’ll still wake up and brush your teeth and go to work. Maybe one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll give birth and meet your soulmate and your football team will finally win the grand final, but every one of those days you’re still getting up in the morning and brushing your teeth. Why? Is that it? You can’t breathe in the shower cubicle for all the steam. You pull your hands over your face. You put your hands on the taps and turn the water off, all at once.

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