your drain is clogged.
dig through the matted hair, and lost bobby pins;
skin cells that are just shreds of memory,
like those letters you wrote and tore apart instead of sending.
your hand touches a lump, smooth and wet.
you feel a slight…beat?
you knew you'd lost it
but you didn't think he would just drop it down the drain.
cynicism glazes your laughter as you dry it off; use it as a door stopper.
the creaky closet door will echo no more.