you're okay, love.
you're okay.
take deep breaths, shoulders shaking;
grip the edge of the sink like
there's no tomorrow,
feel the cool porcelain beneath your palms.

turn on the tap.
watch the water gush out;
tilt your head back, watch
the broken lightbulb on the ceiling
buzzing.

deep breaths, love.
scoop the ice-cold water with both
your palms, marvelling
at the subtle roughness of your
fingertips, and the rest of your
hands covered in small imperfections.

splash the water on your face,
wipe away the tear tracks,
wash away the smudged mascara.

you'll be okay, love.
this has happened so many times.
shoudn't you be used to it by now?
square your shoulders, look me
in the eye. whisper to me,
almost as if you mean it,
"i'm strong. i'll be fine.
i am fine."

push the bathroom door open;
go out there, face the world.
you're okay, love.
you're okay.