This bathroom buzzes with the sound of a fan whirring. It's blades loom and spin with a constant rhythm. The dim, ultraviolet light on the ceiling, Bleaches everything out into shades of cream and khaki.
I lay in a calm and murky pool enclosed in cold white walls. Steam rises from its surface and fogs the room. The water condensates in mirroring beads on the walls, Making the tiny bathroom seem colorless and infinite.
I want to go home to my own aqua green bathtub, Walls crawling with tiny square tiles of burnt umber and burgundy. Where my silent meditation in the bath, Is interrupted by your call on the telephone.