If the basin were bigger, I'd climb in. Steel wool would be my tool of choice: an effort to cleanse my bounding to previous keepers and remnants of time. Choices and paths to be reverted to a state not yet touched, not yet muddled and tampered with: clean. Regret is often confused with guilt, very often apart from now, in this moment. Love is not an emotion I try to leash and tame, and that is often why I find myslef damaged and alone: I become ***** with everyone else's leftovers. I am made of other people's mistakes and I bare their influences on my sleeve. Maybe one day that'll wash away.